


The Alchemist's Daughter

by Erato_Muse



Series: The Coven Wars [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alchemy, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bisexual Harry Potter, Black Hermione Granger, British folklore, Covens, Dragon Riders, Dragons, Dragonspeak, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Faeries - Freeform, Female Character of Color, Gryffindor vs. Slytherin Rivalry, Harry Potter - Freeform, Hogwarts Inter-House Rivalries, Magical War, Major Original Character(s), Male Character of Color, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Red String of Fate, Regulus Black Lives, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin Raise Harry Potter, Soulmates, Star-crossed, Vampire Severus Snape, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:00:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 86
Words: 319,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23194372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erato_Muse/pseuds/Erato_Muse
Summary: Harry Potter has never fallen in love...until one day in Hogsmeade, a red chord of fate leads him to Pandora Black, the orphaned daughter of Regulus Black, raised by the Malfoys. They are destined to love each other, and fall hard, fast.Though they belong to different Covens,and were born on different sides of the Coven Wars, Harry and Dora share a deep connection. Through Voldemort's second rise, they navigate the secrets, treachery, and dangers ahead of them to be together.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley/Original Female Character(s), Ginny Weasley/Original Male Character(s), Harry Potter/Original Female Character(s), James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Lily Evans Potter/Severus Snape, Severus Snape/Original Female Character(s), Severus Snape/Original Male Character(s), Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Tom Riddle/Ginny Weasley
Series: The Coven Wars [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1667512
Comments: 34
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CurrerJean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CurrerJean/gifts).



> While I have participated in other fandoms and written fanfiction for them in the past, this is my first Harry Potter fanfiction. It is a concept I have had in my head for over ten years, since back when the movies and books were still being released;) It felt like the right time to write it. It is very AU, and features Harry in a romance with an original character...so, if you find that its not your cup of tea, please be kind:) I hope that you enjoy it.  
> Xoxoxoxoxoxo!

The legends that Muggles told contained kernels of truth, hidden magic that they dared not to believe. The tales of King Arthur told of hidden valleys and forests, like Avalon and Broceliande, hidden behind veils of magic and mist. Such hidden places still existed, and were home to wizards who chose to practice their craft and live their life away from the possibility of being discovered by those who did not practice magic. 

As the sun rose and set, it flecked the scales of mermaids with its light as they dove in and out of the depths of the cove, and painted rainbows on the glassy wings of pixies as they danced in wildflower meadows; on frosty winter nights the keening chorus of howling werewolves rose from the dales and moors, but the residents of the Arcane Vale knew not to come out on full moon nights. The moonlight white bodies of unicorns could be glimpsed between the trees of deep forests, and from the trees rang the frothing babble of magical springs and fountains where nymphs sang.

Pandora found it all terribly dull.

The fauns and satyrs whom the gardeners chased from the orchards and bosco leered and lewdly grabbed themselves, and pixies sometimes bit, leaving quite a rash. There was nothing to do except visit. The wealthiest families lived in manors, and visited often. During the summer, the boys were home from school, so things were quite interesting. Infatuations played out at balls, and provided enough heartbreak and intrigue to gossip about when the boys were installed at Hogwarts, in Scotland, once again in autumn. The families of the Arcane Vale didn’t send their daughters to school, nor were they provided with wands. They learned feminine accomplishments, potions and herbology. The verdant Vale, with its enchanted orchards, meadows, forests and springs, felt like a monotonous prison to Pandora Alcyone Black. 

All the girls she knew escaped through reading sensational novels, like Hawksmoor by Mrs. Featherstone, the story of Arabella, a young witch who must traverse the globe escaping the bestial desire of a vampire called Sanguinetti before she can be reunited with and marry her true love, the peerless Beauregarde who writes acrostic poetry and plays the oboe.

Pandora wasn't like all the girls she knew. When the house was quiet, when everyone was preoccupied, she snuck books that were not appropriate for young, gently born witches out of the vast library her uncle never touched. She was reading a book about alchemy, hidden in the dust jacket of Hawksmoor.

“Hawksmoor is insipid! Read this, instead. And take this. Careful, don’t snap it,” Pandora’s cousin, Lucilla Malfoy, ordered. 

Lucy was her best friend, companion, confidante, and two years younger than Pandora. They looked like two sorceresses from an Arthurian myth, one wicked and one benevolent, though Pandora couldn't decide which was which. Pandora was womanly and dark haired, with brown skin of a light sienna hue, whereas Lucy was a thin, silvery blonde who was tall for her age, 14. They shared one trait, gray eyes the color of a stormy sky.  
Pandora rushed to put her novel away and catch the items Lucy was shoving her way, a heavy book and a wand that appeared to be made of oak.

“Lucy! What is this? We aren’t allowed wands. Where did you get those?” Pandora spluttered, as she read the title of the book: The Duelist’s Handbook.

“In the attic,” Lucy said. “I suppose they belong to some dead Malfoys.” 

She emphasized her words with a shrug, which sent her long, white cashmere shawl sprawling down her slender shoulder. Lucy wore a sky blue empire waisted gown, Pandora wore a white, cotton off the shoulder gown that gave her a preview of what she would look like on her wedding day. Since she was born, perhaps before, she was betrothed to Lucy’s brother, Draco. He was off at school half the year. When he was at home, he was often in bed-he was not a robustly healthy boy. Pandora rather liked caring for Draco when he was ill, unless he was being peevish, fussy, and immature. She couldn’t imagine being his wife, the only person he turned to when he was ill, rather than his mother, Pandora’s aunt Narcissa. Helping an adult was one thing-when you had performed your role adequately, you were released to read, practice music, pick apples, or walk to a friend’s house. No one would release her from being Draco’s wife once her new life as an adult began. 

“Wands have to choose their masters, in the shop. You can’t just use someone else’s,” Pandora said.

“If no one else is using them, you can. These don’t belong to anyone,” Lucy said.

Dora could just imagine her Aunt Narcissa’s face if she held the wand before her properly, as if she meant to do magic with it. She’d all but sneer her disapproval, her delicate mouth becoming hard rather than its usual appealing Cupid’s bow, wrinkles appearing on her pristine brow, and her gray eyes becoming as cold as a harsh northern sea. After this pointed silence, she’d surely walk Pandora upstairs for a long talk about how ‘unbecoming’ she was behaving, and the importance of cultivating appropriate virtues. 

Her aunt wanted her to be nothing short of the perfect woman, and Dora tried. She didn’t put herself forward at dinner conversation, she only answered her Uncle Lucius’s associates monosyllabically when they asked her a question, and looked down at the table while she did so; she didn’t dance with everyone who asked her at a ball, and even left early. She listened to what her aunt and uncle said was suitable and unsuitable, often earning scowls from Lucy who always managed to wander away too far, eat too much, talk too loudly, and break some rule by day’s end.

She feared that Narcissa would say that her mother would be disappointed at her behavior. Ada Valancourt Black was not only a memorable beauty, but Narcissa described her as ‘gentle, kind, utterly faultless.’ Her only fault, it seemed, was a weak heart, taxed fatally by Pandora’s birth. 

“Your father simply couldn’t live without her,” she had been told many times, as explanation for Regulus Black’s death so soon after his wife’s. 

They were both young, beautiful, too delicate to weather life’s storms, like characters in novels who were constantly praying for strength or trying to imbibe it from the majesty of nature, but whose fierce, strong emotions overwhelmed their bodies despite their efforts to rally. They were always spoken of with fondness and regret by Dora’s relatives, and she never wanted to do anything that would shame the memory of such paragons for parents. 

“Hawksmoor is drivel. All that rot about marriages. Father says there’s going to be a war. We must prepare for it, don’t you see? What if the Vale is broken, and the other covens’ forces come pouring in? The men will be gone, we must be responsible for ourselves!” Lucy insisted heatedly.

“Lucy, you mustn’t be fearful. Aunt says that women have a responsibility to their families to keep life in the household routine. We must stay calm, to do that,” Pandora said.

“‘Aunt says,’” Lucy mocked. “If I wanted to know what my mother thinks…well, I suppose I’ll ask you won’t I?” 

Pandora was stung. Lucy could defy her parents as much as she wanted, and be assured of their love and forgiveness. Pandora had to conduct herself with gratitude towards the relatives that had taken her in after her father’s death. Then, there were her parents-if she disappointed them, how could she ever make it up to them? Pandora had to live at a precariously high standard of obeisance. She and Lucy were as close as sisters, but she saw now with sadness that they were not alike.

“Here, read this page. Now, this is how to disarm someone if they try to stun you. Go on. You read it and follow it, just like a potion,” Lucy said, opening the book to a page that had step by step illustrations of the instructions.

“Lucy…” Pandora said. 

She knew that Lucy wouldn’t take another refusal. She also knew for a fact that her aunt was away from the manor, visiting her friend Madam Venetia Candlesnow. It could run long if Madam Candlesnow was showing off her dressmaker’s latest creations. She had an irksome habit of dressing her daughter, Stelliana, exactly like Pandora, which necessitated that Pandora ignore Stelliana Candlesnow at all costs so that no one would think she had approved this tendency. In any case, Pandora figured they had a while before Narcissa could discover them practicing magic forbidden to women.

She held her wand the way the gentlemen in the illustration did, almost as if it were a sword.

“Your stance,” Lucy said, and Pandora widened her stance.

“Now, when I say ‘Stupefy’, you say ‘Expelliarmus’,” Lucy instructed.

“All right, then,” Pandora said, getting used to the feel of the wand in her hand. It was slender, but heavy, and hummed as if it had music within it.

She wasn’t prepared for Lucy’s shout of ‘Stupefy!’ By the time she shouted ‘Expelliarmus’, she couldn’t be sure if she had disarmed Lucy or not, because Pandora flew backwards, into the hedges.  



	2. Chapter 2

“Get out from there, Miss!” said Digweed, the gardener. “You can’t play where I’m working.”

“Play? Digweed, I’m sixteen! I haven’t played since I was a child!” Pandora said, outraged.

“All right, Miss. All the same, let’s get you up,” Digweed said, took Dora’s hands, and hoisted her out of the hedges.   
She was just glad that she hadn’t landed against the tree-how would she ever explain her untimely death to her Aunt and Uncle?

“Dora, you did it! You knocked the wand right out of my hand!” Lucy said excitedly, practically skipping over to Dora and Digweed. 

“And myself right into the holly. I’m quite done with wand magic-my shoulder hurts,” Dora said.

“Recoil,” Lucy explained. “One gets used to it.”

“Oh, does one? I say, I’m done with all this, Lucilla, and you should be, too. This business about a war…its just what men talk about at dinner. The four covens are all one Guild, to which all wizards belong,” Pandora said.

“Except, it hasn’t always been that way. Dumbledore and Gryffindor Coven persecuted the Magister, and now that he has returned from hiding they are at it again. Father says we must defend our way of life, and…” Lucy recited, sounding scarily like Uncle Lucius and his friends.

The Guild of Magical Arts was an organization of wizards, and there were four covens, Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff, which studied and preserved different branches of magic. Membership was hereditary for those who came from a lineage of magic, but for those born to a Muggle family they were sorted upon arrival at Hogwarts, the Guild’s school for magical education. Each coven had its own magister. In times of crisis, such as the dragon pox epidemic that had occurred twenty years prior, the Guild could elect one Coven Magister as their Pontifex Rex, a most ancient title that conferred dominion over all four covens. 

The Magister of Slytherin Coven, Tom Riddle, was elected, but Gryffindor Coven and its Magister, Dumbledore, led the charge to contest the election results and resist his authority. The disagreement turned to civil unrest amongst the nation’s wizards.  
Pandora and Lucy knew about Riddle’s return, because Lucius had always been high in the magister’s favor. He could no longer openly lead the coven, banned from Guild membership, but under the assumed name Lord Voldemort, was amassing followers amongst the old ranks and those newly drawn to his cause, boys Draco’s age looking for a cause and a purpose. 

Oppression was imminent. When Riddle-or, rather, Voldemort-was discovered by the Guild, what would become of them? Uncle Lucius complained bitterly about the Guild’s restrictions, Dumbledore, and how things had once been simpler and more fair…how the covens needed to be made great again. 

“I suppose if I want to know what Uncle thinks, I’ll ask you,” Pandora said.

“Oh, are you still cross about that?” Lucy rejoined. 

“Come, let’s go inside, lie down for our nap. Aunt won’t know that we haven’t been sleeping all the while,” Pandora said.

“The servants will tell her,” Lucy said bitterly. She hated being spied and tattled on.

“Lucy, if I were you, I wouldn’t pay such close attention to the things that Uncle and his friends talk about. Its up to women to carry on, even if men get caught up in political nonsense,” Pandora said, trying to assume her aunt’s dignified air.

“Oh, Dora-do shut up,” Lucy said.   



	3. Chapter 3

Dora brushed off Lucy’s criticism. She simply didn’t understand how different their positions were, in the Malfoy household, and trying to explain would be beyond what a fourteen year old like Lucy could comprehend. She decided to put their exchange out of her head. The girls had their nap, and when they awoke an hour later Lucy had her dancing lessons, and Pandora had Potioncraft tutoring with Professor Snape. Although he was also a Hogwarts professor, he tutored the girls of the Arcane Vale in Potions, as well. 

It was well known that he had sought permission to live in the Arcane Vale, and had been denied several times on the grounds that his father was a Muggle. 

“A precaution, to make sure no one invites any unsavory characters in, who would steal our magic and sell it to other Muggles,” her aunt had explained.

Pandora thought that was quite old fashioned and harsh, but it wasn’t like her to express dissent towards her aunt or uncle. She didn’t agree, either, with the gossip which ran that Professor Snape tutored the young girls of the Arcane Vale in Potioncraft to try to secure a wealthy and well born bride, and through her a home in the Vale. The girls snickered about him, but Dora simply enjoyed her lessons. Truth be told, she’d heard that the Professor was a close friend of her father’s. She didn’t have the courage to ask him a personal question about her father’s character, but she vowed one day she would.

Pandora changed into a dark green dress that wouldn’t betray inevitable stains, tied a plum colored apron about her, and got her supplies: mortar and pestle, knife, etc. 

“Pandora,” her aunt called to her. 

She hadn’t realized that she had arrived home. Narcissa was sitting at her vanity in her bedroom, wearing a filmy, almost sheer gown, brushing her long blonde hair. Pandora took the brush from her and began to brush it. She could tell by her aunt’s attire that she was going to lie down for the day. Her health, like her son’s was not very robust. In addition to being a tutor, the Professor was something of a physician to Narcissa, and formulated medicines specific to her particular litany of ailments.

“You are looking much better today, dear Aunt. Are your headaches past?” Pandora asked.

“Yes, and it’s a mercy. I simply couldn’t let Venetia down, but I did begin to grow a bit faint,” Narcissa said.

“That could just be from the colors she wears. That shade of orange she is so keen on bringing into vogue would give anyone a migraine,” Pandora said.

Her aunt laughed, and her violet eyes had a conspiratorial light.

“And I thought I’d raised you to think well of others,” Narcissa said.

“Yes, Aunt, but I am not blind,” Pandora said.

“Maybe Venetia overdoes it, a bit. Were you on your way to the Springhavens’, for your lessons with the Professor?” Narcissa asked.

“Yes. Aunt, I was wondering…I’ve heard Uncle say that the Professor was quite a close friend of my father’s. Do you think it would be appropriate if I asked the Professor about him?” Pandora said.

Narcissa smiled with kindness and sadness in her eyes.

“What did you want to know?” Narcissa said.

“Just…what he was like?” Pandora said.

“My cousin, Regulus, was…gentle. Studious. Brilliant, really, but never ostentatious about it. And utterly devoted to your mother,” Narcissa said. “You have his tender heart. You always try to make the best decision for everyone. I see the way you weigh your words before you speak, trying always to maintain or establish felicity…it is very much like him. Don’t reawaken the memories of a difficult time for the Professor, when he is so especially fond of you.”

“Of me? I’m just another student,” Pandora said.

“Not at all,” Narcissa said. “He asks after your happiness, as is appropriate and to be expected of a friend of your father’s.”

“That is very considerate,” Pandora said.

Narcissa gave her a satisfied smile. Pandora was relieved that she seemed to have arrived at the expected reaction. She felt safer when she pleased her aunt and uncle. If ever they were displeased with her, what would become of her?

Pandora walked to the Sprinhaven manor, where the girls’ lessons were conducted, under the shade of broad, ancient oaks whose branches cast dark shadow over the lane. She liked walking by herself like this. In solitude, there were no expectations. She took her place at one of the long benches in the Springhaven hothouse. Tropical fruit trees and orchid trees from the Faery country, plants with eyes, voices, faces, and intoxicating smells surrounded them. 

She couldn’t call any of these girls friends. Calliope Cedarbrook, Stelliana Candlesnow, Belvina Coldwater, and Agrippina Swithin. They all had their reasons for despising and ignoring, trying to humiliate or slander each other, but the funny thing was that Pandora couldn’t clearly remember where these reasons had began. Their enmity was always taking a new form. She quickly realized that it was, currently, a derisive contempt towards her for her competency at Potioncraft. It seemed a simple matter-the Professor asked her questions, she answered them, but with every correct answer, she felt more glares from Calliope, Stelliana, Belvina, and Agrippina. 

She felt a foreshadowing of what she most feared-being alone amongst people who felt no charity for her. 

By the time the lesson was over, Pandora had successfully made a potion to cure sleeplessness, but she wanted to splash it against the glass walls and cry.

“Miss Black,” the Professor said, as she was gathering her things.

She looked at him, waiting. 

“You look so very like her,” he said. “Your mother. And you have her grace.”

He said it as if it was the highest compliment he could bestow, and his face said that it had taken as much courage to tell her as she had been trying to find to ask him about her other parent.

“Did you know her well, Professor?” she asked.

“Only after her marriage. She was a balm in your father’s life,” he said. “The coven was in turmoil, then.”

“Is that so unlike now?” she asked.

He looked at her with some surprise, and Pandora regretted speaking. She was, her aunt had made clear, never to say anything political, especially not to a man.

“I don’t share your uncle’s antipathy towards Dumbledore, I feel it fair to warn you,” Snape said. Was this some clever test, some subtle form of discipline? She thought he was genuinely allowing her to speak this way to him, and so she continued.

“I’m not sure I hate him, either. He is a great Wizard,” she said.

Snape nodded faintly, again as if he wanted her to continue. 

“He’s defeated many a dark wizard. Perhaps his restrictions on gray magic only come from an abundance of caution, born of experience,” Pandora said. “In any case, the council certainly sees the merit of his views, and others share them. That is good democracy, isn’t it?”

“And so the Guild remains intact,” Snape said. “You pay attention to a great many things, don’t you, Miss Black?”

“No, not at all!” she said, conscious that she had gone too far, afraid of herself.

“A pity. I meant to say, continue to do so,” Snape said.

“Professor…” she said, but didn’t know how to begin. 

She wanted to know so many things…would her father have agreed with herself, or her uncle, who despised Dumbledore and met secretly with Magister Riddle’s followers, at sudden notice, in the dead of night? Was the Professor one of these followers? Was he trying to entrap her by admitting that he did not hate Dumbledore? Was her mother the sort of woman who paid attention to a great many things? What would she have done if a room full of girls didn’t like her?

“Do you think things will change?” she ended up saying.

“You’re crying. Does this all frighten you?” he asked.

She hadn’t realized that she was crying.

“No, I frighten me. I… can’t stand not to like people. What might I say to them, what might I do? I’m afraid that I’ll truly hate someone, and then what shall I do?” she said. “My aunt says that I have a tender heart. I don’t think I do. I’m sure I don’t.”

“There is nothing wrong with you, Miss Black. If the scrutiny of the other girls upsets you, then perhaps it would be preferable for me to tutor you individually, at Malfoy Manor,” Snape said.

She hadn’t seen that coming. She realized her aunt was right, Snape did have an investment in her happiness.

“I shall ask my uncle,” she said.

“Allow me,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said.

Pandora gathered her things, and left the greenhouse. On the verdant lawn of the Springhaven estate, the Springhavens, a plump and cherubically faced elderly couple, were picnicking with friends.

“Yoo-hoo! Miss Black! Where are you hurrying to, dear? Do come join us!” hailed Madam Springhaven. 

Since they were so good as to provide a space for the girls’ education, and were well acquainted with the Malfoys, she felt she could hardly resist. She swallowed the peculiar excitement that talking to the Professor had occasioned in her. She felt she could have many conversations like that one, every day. Is that what it was like, she wondered, when men talked after dinner? 

She imagined being a young man, like Draco, and going to school, where surely the Professors took the brightest boys under their wings and everyone had their opinions and perhaps even arguments, all in preparation to sit in the Guild one day, and write up laws or agreements with the Wizards of other nations, or even to be diplomatic envoys to the Faerie kingdoms….

But, she had to put away such thoughts and find something nice to say about Madam Springhaven’s straw hat, tied beneath her chin with a salmon ribbon, decorated with imitation fruit.

She walked over to the picnic.

“Make a spot,” she said to a soft-bodied, kind-faced boy about Draco’s age. Pandora wondered why he wasn’t in school, and as if reading her mind Madam Springhaven introduced him.

“Neville Longbottom. Home from Hogwarts for a sprained ankle. Healed him myself, he’s right as rain now,” she said. “Shake hands, Neville!” she added sharply, and he blushed furiously.  
By his violent blush, which made his soft cheeks seem like that of a painted ceramic figurine, she detected a resemblance to the Springhavens-he must be a nephew. 

“How do you do?” Neville managed.

“Very well, thank you,” Pandora said.

“Enchante,” he said, but so hesitantly it was as if he was asking for his “Aunt…Shawn…Tay?”

“Thank you,” Pandora said. She sat down on the picnic blanket, and said, “You must know my cousin.”

“I’m sure I do. What’s his name?” Neville asked.

“Draco Malfoy,” she said.

Neville’s eyes widened. “He’s…very…well known. For, erm…fencing. He’s a fencer, isn’t he?”

Pandora gathered that wasn’t what Draco was well known for.

“They’ve been promised to each other since they were infants, Miss Black and your friend young Mr. Malfoy. Which reminds me, Miss Black. I saw you linger after class to talk to the Professor. What did he have to say to you?” asked Madam Springhaven.  
Dora was near tongue tied by the galling familiarity of this.

“General things,” she said.

“General things, hmm?” Madam Springhaven said. “Be careful of that one. Who ever heard of a Hogwarts teacher making an extra living? Its not the development of young ladies that interests him. Or, rather, I should say it is all that interests him.”

Mr. Springhaven looked bemused. Clearly, he was the sort of man who reveled in having an outspoken wife who had an opinion of everyone in the neighborhood-her prejudices served as his reference. Neville looked horrified, and Pandora felt him an ally of her’s.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Pandora said.

“She doesn’t know what I mean!” Madam Springhaven said to Mr. Springhaven, who chortled. “Of course not. Orphaned lamb. A saint, like her mother. Mind you, be conservatively cordial to that one. He’s a fortunehunter.”

“Miss Black is spoken for, my dear,” Mr. Springhaven reminded her.

“Elopements are known to happen, whether the young lady wants them to, or not! But, that’s all I’ll say,” Madam Springhaven said.

“Miss Black, what does your uncle make of his chances to be Magister? Elections will be on this time next year, he’s running out of time to decide,” Mr. Springhaven said.

This didn’t feel at all like when Snape had asked her about Guild affairs. Pandora felt as if she was being prompted to say the right thing.

“He knows his own mind, I’m sure, Sir, but I can think of no one better. He is most kind and charitable,” Pandora said.

“Kind and charitable? Not the qualities one strives for in politics, Miss Black!” Mr. Springhaven said, roaring with laughter.

Madam Springhaven laughed, too.

“Neville, walk Miss Black to Malfoy Manor. You know the way. She’s betrothed to your school friend, its all respectable. Next time, Miss Black, do not allow yourself to be detained,” Madam Springhaven said.

Neville and Pandora walked down the lane shaded by ancient oaks, bordered by meadows and small farms. 

“Is Madam Springhaven your relation, of some kind?” Pandora said.

“My cousin. I’m so sorry for all that advice she gave you. She tells me what to do with my hair, so I understand perfectly,” Neville said.

“Your hair? Your hair is fine just as it is,” Pandora said.

“I’m glad you think so,” Neville said. “Are you quite offended by her?”

“Not at all. All anyone does round here is gossip,” Pandora said. “I’d prefer not to be thought of as someone who’d elope with their Potionscraft teacher, but I don’t think she would tell such a tale far and wide. Its just…well, when you don’t have parents everyone sees you as lost and helpless.”

“Quite right,” Neville said. “My parents, they’re gone.”

“You understand,” she said.

A silence passed between them, but not an uncomfortable one. She felt a palpable understanding.

“You girls are lucky. All your education is in plants, and what to do with them. Herbs, and potions. I’ve no head for any other kind of magic. Well, Herbology is more my forte-potions muddle me,” Neville said.

“I could help you with them!” Pandora said. “Do come to the manor, and we can poke around the gardens, mix things up in the kitchen.”

“Good-Snape terrifies me,” Neville said. “I don’t know how he is when he teaches you girls…but at Hogwarts, he’s terrifying.”

“He was close to my parents,” Pandora said. 

“Anyone in Slytherin coven, he’s all right to,” Neville said. 

“Do people at school take all of that seriously, covens and such?” Pandora said.

Neville didn’t seem to be able to disguise his emotions, whatsoever. His face betrayed his surprise. Across the lane, slender deer galloped across a verdant tract of green meadow.

“Its all anyone judges you by. Gryffindor and Slytherin will never get on, and sometimes there are fights. Ravenclaw’s slippery. Since thy don’t want to be involved, no one trusts them. Hufflepuff-they’re dark horses. They can be tricky, and switch things up depending on how the wind goes, and still seem like everyone’s dear friend,” Neville said. “I try to stay out of it all. Of course, its all gotten more serious. Some of the Slytherins like the idea of having Riddle back, and think he’s some kind of hero. A strong hand, and a rebel, to boot, for all those dark rituals he used to hold. I think it’s a pose, a rebellion.”

“Do you think things will become truly dangerous?” Pandora asked. She enjoyed the sides she had seen of Neville so far. He was so refreshingly forthright.  
Before Neville could answer, Calliope came towards them.

“Dora, we must talk,” she said. 

“Fine then. We shall talk. This is Neville Longbottom,” Pandora said.

“How do you do?” Neville asked, and was ignored by Calliope, who wore a mauve spencer over her burgundy gown.

“You must stop being so serious in classes. That’s why we get cross at you. Some people think of it as a superior attitude, or eccentric,” Calliope said. “Not to mention, that Snape man is no one to impress. But, you mustn’t think that we don’t adore you. We long to see you at the Founding Day ball.”

“Naturally. I wouldn’t offend the Faer patrons over a misunderstanding in the schoolroom,” Pandora said. 

The Vale was allowed to exist by the Faeries. Faeries were summoned by the first Wizards to conceive the idea of the Arcane Vale, the land was bestowed by Faeries, and the charms that hid the Vale were powerful magic gifted from them. Faeries loved celebration, and Founding Day honored the Vale’s creation with song, dance, fireworks. Not to have a good time was to offend their benefactors.

“I suppose Draco will escort you? The boys will all be home by then,” Calliope said, quite ignoring Neville’s very presence. 

“Calliope…I do see what you mean. Madam Springhaven of all people said that he was a fortune hunter. I will be careful, but I didn’t feel concern from the others towards me, I felt contempt, and it was hardly earned,” Pandora said.

“I’ll talk to the rest,” Calliope said.

“No, don’t. I simply want all this to end here,” Pandora said.

“Pandora, all anyone does in the Vale is talk. You’ll have to get accustomed to it. What else is there to do? Oh, yes: dance. Balls and talk-that’s our life,” Calliope said.

Pandora couldn’t help it. This got her to smile. She forgot the dark corners of her uncle’s world, the rogue Magister, Tom Riddle, and his opponent, Dumbledore, and all talk of the Guild as she walked with Neville and Calliope.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Possible Trigger Warnings in this chapter:  
> Snape displays an infatuation towards Dora, which makes her uncomfortable; Ginny makes a ribald joke about Lavender Brown;

It was from Neville she first heard the name ‘Harry Potter’. As they went on plant-finding expeditions in forests and by shallow, languidly rushing streams, and the gardens of the Malfoy and Springhaven estates. They sometimes turned over a mushroom or rock and found tiny Faerie creatures, or saw them dancing like fireflies with human forms in the heart of their radiant auras. They respectfully left the tiny Fae unharmed. Pandora plied Neville with questions, about Hogwarts. Without saying so in so many words, Pandora gathered that the Slytherin Coven boys were considered a menace, her cousin included.  
She didn’t tell Neville all that she knew-that Magister Riddle had returned, that he went from one secret location to another, that his followers scoured the realms on his behest for powerful magical objects.

By virtue of her uncle’s connection to these events, they were family secrets. 

But, what really interested her were the personalities of the other covens, and life at the school. When Neville spoke of Harry Potter, it was with warmth and affection that endeared Pandora to his name, as well. 

“He’s not like people say. I’m sure you heard all kinds of things, after the Tri-Wizard Tournament,” Neville said. “But, he didn’t want all the attention.”

“I was probably learning how to dance or play the harp. You’ll have to fill me in,” Pandora said, as they transplanted plants.

“Well, Riddle’s first appearance after years of hiding was at the Triwizard Tournament-you know, where three different champions have to use their magic to defeat several obstacles, and one of them wins at the end. But, Riddle kidnapped the champions, and made them compete in a version of the games where the winner lives, the others…don’t,” Neville said.

“That’s horrible!” Pandora said.

“Thankfully, he escaped, but ever since, Harry’s had a hard time of it. The scrutiny,” Neville said. “As if its his fault that some dark wizard wants to kill him!”

Would the man that her Uncle was loyal to really try to kill a boy the same age as Draco? Dora continued to plunge her spade into the soft, dark, wet earth, in silence.

Pandora’s uncle approved her private lessons with Snape, at Malfoy Manor. Rather than the standard curriculum for a young lady, Potionscraft and Herbology, he began to teach her a little of everything: Transfiguration, and Charms, for which she used the old Malfoy wand Lucy had presented her with, History of Magic, which led to many interesting discussions about the Guild’s history, and even Astronomy, in an 18th century style folly tower in the ornamental bosco. 

“Professor, why do you teach me these things?” Pandora asked.

“Because you have the interest and the aptitude-otherwise, I wouldn’t bother. I knew your parents. They were alchemists, Pandora-the most multifaceted branch of magic, one few dare to attempt. A mind such as the one you’ve inherited shouldn’t be wasted on trivial accomplishments,” he said.

“Alchemists?” Pandora said.  
She was dizzied by this new information about her parents, but it wasn’t lost on her that he had said her first name.

“Magical scientists. Brilliant people. I wouldn’t profane their memory by giving you a limited education,” he said.

“Thank you, Professor,” she said, looking into his dark eyes. Before them, was a sky full of dazzling stars. 

Snape adjusted the hood of her hooded satin pelisse, and paused to look at her closely, as if seeing her for the first time. His hands slowly took the hood down, and touched her bountiful, dark, curly hair. She had read of desire in a man’s eyes in novels, but feeling it aimed at herself was quite another thing. It felt unsavory, she felt as if she wanted to hide.

“Professor…” she said. “I think I’m tired.”

He seemed to snap out of a hypnotized state, and dropped his hands. “I apologize for overtaxing you, Miss Black,” he said.

A skirmish took place in the village outside Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, between Gryffindor and Slytherins. Gryffindor was blamed in the popular consensus, and the boys involved were painted as a zealous faction that the newspapers called “Dumbledore’s Army.” Once more, over breakfast, in her Uncle Lucius’s ranting over the state of the Guild, Pandora heard the name Harry Potter. However, for once she wasn’t curious about political news. She picked at her breakfast melon with no enthusiasm.

“Thank Merlin Draco is to be home soon for Founding day,” Lucius said. 

“I hardly sleep, fearing he’ll be hexed or cursed by a Gryffindor thug!” Narcissa said.  
She was wearing the sapphire bracelet and necklace that Pandora so loved, and pearls woven into her hair. Her pleated cerulean gown completed the impression that she was an Okeanid, or Tethys herself, a goddess of the ocean.

“What kind of Magister does Dumbledore claim to be? Potted old man! They say that he is ill. Weak,” Lucius said. 

What kind of Magister was Riddle, if he truly tried to kill Harry Potter, and two other young people, Dora thought, but the thought flitted away like one of the firefly Faeries she and Neville saw in the fields.

“I don’t think I’d like to do Astronomy lessons anymore, with Professor Snape,” Pandora said.

Lucius looked derailed. Clearly, he had more slanderous innuendo to repeat about Dumbledore. Narcissa looked attentive.

“Why, dear?” Narcissa said. “Professor Snape has nothing but encouraging reports of your progress. Your parents were clever, as are you.”

“What if I’m not?” Pandora said. “I never thought I was particularly clever.”

Lucius smiled proudly. “Modesty is very becoming in a woman, Niece. Very good.”

“I trust the Professor’s word. He is an excellent physician, and cares for me so patiently and skillfully. I trust his assessment of your capabilities, and I think your cleverness will be a credit to Draco, as his wife,” Narcissa said.

That seemed to be the final word. Pandora knew that she couldn’t say a word about the way that Snape had looked into her eyes, and touched her hair, how close he had stood to her, and the way the air around him had felt: warm, hungry. She didn’t like it, but at the time she felt like she had done something wrong, and that was blossoming to guilt, now. She knew she couldn’t talk about it. And, anyway, she liked being thought of as clever, and trusted with things girls didn’t usually learn. She didn’t want to stop learning. 

“Thank you, Aunt,” Pandora said. 

Narcissa smiled. “Girls,” she said, to Pandora and Lucy, “Get ready for the train. We’re going to Hogsmeade. You’re going to be fitted for your Founding Day gowns, and we’ll have tea with Draco.”

“If we’re going to Hogsmeade, I want chocolate from Honeyduke’s. Please?” Lucy said.

“Your teeth will rot. Then who will marry you?” Lucius chuckled. Narcissa joined in.  
Pandora wanted to scream. All anyone thought of was marriage! All anyone talked of was marriage! Pandora wanted to tear her hair out! She didn’t laugh.

A carriage pulled by hippogriffs took her, Narcissa, and Lucy to the train station at which magical, invisible trains departed. If Muggles felt them passing, it was with a foreboding shiver. If they heard their whistles, they assumed it was an echo of the past, a haunting. As they settled into their emerald green velvet seats, Lucy took out a portable desk and she and Narcissa began to work on her calligraphy. Pandora looked out the window, as dales became mountains. 

“Mamma, is Hogsmeade safe? Will we be hexed by Gryffindors?” Lucy said, sounding excited at the prospect.

“Of course not,” Narcissa said crossly. “Pay attention to your work, Lucilla.”

Pandora thought she heard fear in her aunt’s voice. But, it was the Magister who slunk around the countryside, who wanted more and more power, in the form of forbidden magic, followers, and powerful artifcacts…were Gryffindor truly the villains? Pandora looked down at the view from the bridge, of a gray fjord nestled between craggy, snow-capped rocks. The train was plunged into darkness as it went through a tunnel carved into the immortal stone, then emerged. The lake looked even more glittering than before, below them, sun dappled and stirling silver. 

“You must have some reading assigned from Professor Snape, don’t you?” Narcissa said.

“A little history. I have it here,” she said, and pulled some notes from her velvet reticule. 

Narcissa smiled. 

“Your mother was very clever. I always envied her. Her family was very enlightened. No one ever even answered my questions. She was accomplished in all the ways a woman should be, but I feel her education made her companionship with your father uncommonly satisfactory, because they could talk about things, together. That dimension of things must make both partners quite happy,” Narcissa said.

Pandora wasn’t sure what to say.

“You and Draco will be able to talk about all the same things,” Narcissa said.

Pandora studied. When they arrived in Hogsmeade, her legs were wobbly and her back was stiff. She smoothed out her silk dress, adjusted the rope of her reticule around her wrist, and took Lucy’s hand. The cobblestones of the village streets, its square and streets lined with shops, never changed, and Dora was comforted by the sight. She couldn’t imagine this was where Gryffindor and Slytherin boys fought each other-it all looked idyllic as ever.

“Come along, girls,” Narcissa said, and off they went towards the dressmakers.

“Harry,” Remus said, as he wiped beer mugs behind the counter with a clean white towel, “Mahatma Gandhi said, ‘I will not permit anyone to walk through my mind with their dirty feet.’ Can you think what that might mean?”

Harry sat on a stool across from the bar. The Pendragon Pub was the sort of place travelers stopped if they didn’t like the look of the Hog’s Head and couldn’t stand the chatter and crush of the young crowd in the Three Broomsticks. They had a steady clientele of strangers popping into the Wizarding village for various reasons, then leaving again. 

“If I had to guess, I’d say it means to take things on the chin, let things go, don’t fight. But Malfoy and all those Slytherins goad us to distract from what they’re doing! They’re practicing dark magic-they’re Riddle’s followers. You should see all the graffiti scrawled on the walls at school, ‘Lord Voldemort Lives’, rot like that,” Harry fumed.

“Yes. I don’t doubt any of that. So, why let them win? Why give them what they want? When we peacefully resist our enemies’ plans, they lose time in thinking up a new strategy,” Remus said.

He knew that it was a lot for a kid, especially one who had been kidnapped and survived an ordeal like Lord Voldemort’s sadistic gladiatorial version of the Triwizard Games, to wrap their head around. But, he and his partner, Sirius, had sworn to protect Harry from the truth. His parents had been murdered trying to protect him from a madman, that much Harry knew-what he didn’t know was why. Like many dictators, tyrants, and megalomaniacs proved to be, Tom Riddle was superstitious. Astrological charts he’d had drawn up suggested that a boy born under the sign of the phoenix in the year of a comet’s appearance would be his downfall, and he’d decided that was Harry, Sirius’s and Remus’s godson. 

Since the games, as they coped with Harry’s sleeplessness, nightmares, sullenness, and anger in the wake of his ordeal, they had argued about telling him about the prophecy. Sirius had grown up in a traditional household in the Arcane Vale, and rebelled from it all. He hated the idea that stars and prophecies could dictate fate.  
Remus thought it didn’t matter what they believed-Riddle believed it, and it motivated him to kill Harry, so Harry needed to know to protect himself. 

Either way, the idyllic childhood they had tried to create for him in Hogsmeade was over.  
“I guess,” Harry said.

Remus hoped that he really was getting through to his godson. This latest fight had been politicized, and used to smear Dumbledore and the Gryffindor coven. It was just a schoolboy skirmish, born of sophomoric insults that had gone too far, but the world was a livewire and the Guild was a hive of agendas. The last thing Harry needed was more scrutiny.

Before Remus could follow up with another remark, Ginny Weasley popped into the pub’s open door.

“Harry, you ready?” she said. 

“Coming,” Harry said. “Uncle Remus, I promise, I won’t fight anymore. Will you tell Sirius, if he gets back from the Guild while I’m out? I promise.”

“You can tell him yourself. You two need to talk. Run along. Have fun,” Remus said.

Harry had woken up exhausted, which is how he knew that he had dreamed of the amphitheater, and the hooded figures that watched facelessly as he and Cedric, who'd both touched the cup and been transported to Drakenberg, Riddle's former prison, tried to fight off the demons that the hooded men had raised with the meager magic they knew. Summoning of infernal creatures was the darkest of outlawed magic, but the followers of Lord Voldemort believed that only the strongest would survive, and had no qualms about putting Harry and a spare contestant through this terrifying ordeal.  
But, Remus was right-he couldn’t let the enemy control his thoughts or his emotions. He wanted to change, and not lose his temper around the Slytherin coven boys.  
“They’re gits,” Ginny said, and shrugged, when Harry tried to put this into words. 

She didn’t sound as if she thought it was a big deal-how much Harry wanted peace of mind. But, then, Ginny loved a good fight-Harry just ended up in them. Maybe their differences in temperament were too wide a gulf, that was why they had never dated, even though a strong interest was there. That, and she was his best friend’s sister-what decent guy would go there?

Hermione and Ron met them at the Three Broomsticks. Hermione tutted over her newspaper.

“I can’t believe Slytherin is using a silly schoolboy fistfight to slander Dumbledore, and say that he’s either some sort of revolutionary amassing an army, or senile and has lost the reins of the coven,” Hermione said.

“You’re surprised? They’ll say anything,” Ron said. “They seized the whole government once.”

“Do you think it could happen again?” Hermione said.

“I think we should keep our voices down,” Ginny said. “Be cool.”

They couldn’t argue with that, and drank their cider in companionable silence, though the tension in the air around them was as thick and palpable as humidity. 

“Oh, did I tell you? Lavender Brown says she’s found a red string round her wrist. I asked her if she was sure. ‘Of course!’ she says, says she’s always been naturally prophetic and all that. I said, ‘No, are you sure it was round your wrist, and not running between your fanny and your bloke’s…” Ginny was interrupted by Ron exclaiming, 

“Ginny!!! Don’t say what I think you’re about to say! Have I got to wash your mouth out?!” 

“What? She cheated on you, didn’t she? This is me showing you solidarity,” Ginny said.

Hermione’s face was red, torn between laughing and telling Ginny that women should stick together…even if said women had screwed around on their big brother with some random Hufflepuff.

Harry got the gist of Ginny’s ribald joke, but asked, “What’s a red string?”

“Some people say that they see a red string appear somewhere on their body when they’re about to meet their soulmate. Their soulmate is at the other end of their string-its been invisibly connecting you to each other since…well, perhaps since before you were born. You see, in Plato’s Symposium, three philosophers give their different opinions on what they think the nature and origin of love is: a folly, a form of wisdom, a deity, et cetera,” Hermione said. She was officially the only person Harry knew who said the word ‘et cetera’ so precisely, as two different words. She continued, “Plato’s fictionalized version of the real philosopher Aristaphones puts forth that once upon a time, in another age, men were conjoined beings with two heads, two sets of limbs, and two souls. The gods split them in half, and ever since, we have all been born in search of the other half of our soul-our soulmate.”

“Sounds ugly. Two heads, four legs, four arms? Sounds like the gods were drunk when they made ‘em and wanted a do-over,” Ron said, and Ginny laughed. 

“I get it. Remus and Sirius finish each other’s sentences…sometimes, its like they can read each other’s minds. It can’t be easy to find that, but when you do, I guess that’s what it is to be soulmates,” Harry said.

“Well said, Harry,” Hermione said, with a proud smile. 

Hermione and Ginny were both beautiful, kind, strong, fun, and people Harry trusted more than anyone…but, things never became fully romantic although at times he could feel the potential there, with both of them at different times. This red string, soulmate thing felt right, like remembering your way home. This must be the thing he didn’t feel with them, the thing it felt like he was waiting to feel.

“Thanks, ‘Mione. Hey, guys? I think I want to take a short walk,” Harry said.

“By yourself? Hell, no. Not with Riddle somewhere in the shadows,” Ron said.

“Shadows are pretty faint in the day. It’s not like Harry wants to walk the canals of Venice at midnight,” Ginny said.

“What are you on about? Have you been reading Mum’s romance novels?” Ron said.

“Be careful, Harry,” Hermione said.

“I will,” He said. 

Harry walked to the stone bridge over the gray river that halved the village into two banks. When he felt a tug on his wrist, with his other hand he reached for his wand and his mind filled with duelist’s spells…then he noticed that he was still alone on the bridge. The tugging he had felt came from a red string. It was around his wrist, just as Ginny had described Ron’s ex, Lavender’s. It didn’t look light yarn or string, more like a vein of light spun into a hot silk, and the length of it lay on the floor of the bridge and stretched past it, up the street on the opposite side of the bridge than Harry had come from.

Curiosity nearly always got the better of him, and he followed it. He stopped in front of a tailor’s shop.

“What is this string?” said Madam Arklow, the dressmaker. 

Pandora stood on a stool, trying to ignore the stiffness in her back and knees from standing for so long, now. The shop would be fascinating, if she could move around and have a good look. The fabrics appeared to be silk, satin, taffeta, velvet, etc, but it was their origins that distinguished them from their Muggle counterparts. The fabrics of witches’ gowns were imported from the Faerie Realms, and spun from the water of enchanted fountains and springs, the skin of apples from Avalon, the manes of unicorns and hair of mermaids (ethically sourced!), promises, tears, whispers, mist, the petals of flowers that bloomed once every century, and dyed with the dew and nectar of flowers that were never to be seen by human eyes.  
“Just cut it,” Narcissa said.

Madam Arklow tried, and then she looked at Narcissa. They both looked at Pandora, and realized the string was pouring from her heart. She looked down, and noticed, too.


	5. Chapter 5

The string flared and disappeared, but by then Harry had seen where its other half terminated. Through the window of the tailor’s, which seemed to specialize in ladies’ dresses made of magical materials from the Faerie realms, Harry could see a young girl in a white dress, with brown skin the color of coffee with milk stirred in it, her sweet, beautiful face framed by dark, bountiful curls. Her grey eyes sought, beseeched, and found him, and Harry had never felt so strongly that someone was looking for, and had found him.  
Sometimes he felt alone, and this was followed by guilt at his ingratitude. With guardians like Remus and Sirius, and friends like Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, he knew his life was full. But, it wasn’t like having the kind of family that others around him had: parents, siblings, grandparents, people to visit at holidays, whom he could see a resemblance to himself in, in their personalities as well as their features. Would a life like that be happier? Less complicated? The girl in the shop window was looking at him, and he felt an inexplicable sense of belonging that had eluded him. While the dressmaker fussed over her with measuring tape, their gaze did not break. His first instinct was the need to call out to her, but when he searched for her name his mind came up empty…and he realized that he didn’t know it.  
A troupe of rustic Faeries, minor Fae creatures with none of the regal grandeur or immense power of the Seelie and Unseelie court faeries, began to play music and dance, drawing a crowd that obscured Harry’s view of the window. Many rustic and trooping faeries were refugees in the human world from wars in the Faer countries, and made a living selling small magic and playing music. A frog-like man in a worn brown coat played a lively violin, and a girl with gossamer wings in a gauzy, tiered dress danced. Harry was not, like the other witches and wizards who gathered around them, enchanted by the sight. He felt sad and thwarted.

“Hmm…it’s gone, now,” Madame Arklow said. “It looked like a red string of fate…connecting you to your true husband, my dear.”   
“Ah. Then the other end is at the castle, with Draco. It must have appeared because we are so close to it,” Narcissa said.  
“Charming,” Madam Arklow said. “Well, dear, this is a lovely choice for Founding Day, but I know you like to keep a step ahead of fashion, in general. Would you like to look at some fashion plates?”  
They hadn’t seen him. The boy at the other end of her string wasn’t Draco, at all…he was wearing a Hogwarts school scarf, a dark wool coat, dark, long slacks, more Muggle than what one would see in the Vale. His hair was black and messy, which made his thin face look even thinner, and his eyes were a stunning green. Eyeglasses, which he wore, sometimes obscured the eyes, but not his. They were the very color of fine emeralds, dark with a smoldering lustre.  
She felt like she recognized him, and her heart leapt at the sight of him. Her tongue did, too, and she suddenly felt as if she had something to tell him…but there was nothing. She didn’t know him, although he felt so familiar that she wanted to run to him, as if he had returned from a long voyage. Her skin hummed with joy.  
“Mamma!” Lucy said, as the music began. “Can I go see the Faeries?!”   
“They’re the common sort, Lucy. Go look at the fashion plates with your cousin,” Narcissa said.  
“I don’t care about clothes! I want to see the Faeries! Please?” Lucy said.   
Madam Arklow chuckled. “Spirited little miss, isn’t she?” she said.   
Narcissa returned her commiseration with a frosty stare. She was not one of those mothers who shared the discipline of her child with an acquaintance, or one that tolerated it lightly. Pandora was mortified for Lucy.   
Madam Arklow hurried back to her work, first closing the curtains of the shop and then helping Pandora out of her white silk gown. Pandora put her red velvet day dress back on, and her red cashmere shawl.   
She was afraid, as she dressed, that her aunt could see through her skin to her wild heart, the joy in her stomach, her quivering tongue. She felt changed, and didn’t want anyone to see. It wasn’t that he was so handsome. He was tall, thin, and plain, except for those eyes like a magnolia leaf. It was that he felt like her’s. He felt like someone she had always known.   
“You can go to the chocolate shop if you don’t linger around those faeries. You cannot do both, not today,” Narcissa said.   
“Yes, Mamma,” Lucy said.   
“I think I’d rather go to the bookstore,” Pandora said.   
“Ah, has Mrs. Featherstone written something new?” Madam Arklow said.   
“Pandora hardly has time for that tosh. She is studying alone with a tutor, subjects beyond herbs and potions,” Narcissa said, and from the pride in her voice, and the satisfied smile that she gave her, Pandora knew she could never speak of the way Professor Snape made her feel in the folly tower.   
“Oh?” Madam Arklow said. “How modern.”   
“Not at all. Her mother was educated just the same way. I believe it would be Ada’s wish, for Dora to know something of everything. She was my dearest friend,” Narcissa said.   
“Ah, yes. Ada was a dove. She would be proud of you, my dear girl. You are quite a young lady,” Madam Arklow said.   
Pandora murmured her thanks. She didn’t feel that she deserved their praises. They took it for modesty, and only looked more approving, then moved on to the topic of what Madam Candlesnow’s dressmaker found fashionable.   
“Always misses the mark. Too much embellishment is the enemy of elegance,” Madam Arklow tutted, as Lucy and Dora slipped out of the shop.  
“Fashionplates?!” Lucy said.   
“Some people enjoy them,” Pandora said.   
“Who cares about clothes?” Lucy said. “When would you like to practice dueling again?”   
“Never. Why don’t you take up the piano?” Pandora said.   
“Ugh, music is more boring than clothes!” Lucy said.   
“Well, what would you truly like to do, Lucilla?” Pandora said.   
“Study with you and Professor Snape! He’s teaching you proper magic, like boys use, isn’t he?” Lucy said.   
Dora felt panicky. “No! You mustn’t ask Aunt and Uncle! You can’t!” The idea of him touching Lucy’s hair, and looking at her hungrily made Pandora so frightened, she felt a sharp pain in her chest.   
“Why? I need an education, too! Why do you need to learn such things? You’re just going to marry Draco,” Lucy pouted.   
“No, Lucilla! You’re better off just as you are,” Pandora said.   
“What do you mean? Don’t you like your lessons? And stop doing that,” Lucy said.   
“Doing what?” Pandora asked, and Lucy began turning her neck this way and that, making her blonde curls bounce on her shoulders.   
“Looking down every lane. We’ll see Draco soon enough,” Lucy said. “But you want to run into him by chance, like Arabella and Beauregarde are always doing in bloody Hawksmoor.”   
“Don’t swear, Lucilla. Here is the bookshop. Go to the chocolate shop. I’ll be along in fifteen minutes. Stay there,” Pandora said.   
Lucilla usually listened to her, so she didn’t worry.   
Pandora didn’t know why she felt so strongly that if she went into the bookstore, she would see him again. Maybe even when the string wasn’t visible, it exerted its gravity upon her. A bell rang as she entered the shop.

Harry went to the bookshop, just to kill time and continue to be alone for a bit, and gather his thoughts. The bell at the door rang, signifying that someone else had entered. His bones knew before his eyes saw, and when they confirmed what he felt, his body was flooded with a curious feeling with heady notes-there was giddiness, but also serenity. Some great matter had been resolved within him, perhaps within his soul.   
She wore a red velvet dress, and a red woolen shawl with a silky sheen. Her grey eyes searched the shop for the presence of another.   
“Over here,” Harry said.   
She looked surprised, looked around for the source of his voice, and then her eyes met his, once more.   
“It’s you,” she said.   
Harry loved the sound of her voice.   
“The Peeper,” she said, with a naughty glint in her eye, and a mischievous smile.  
“I wasn’t peeping!” Harry exclaimed .  
“Oh, its all right. I live in the countryside-I’m quite used to satyrs,” she said. “They do tend to peep.”   
“Is that…a big problem, out in the Vale?” he asked, but was instantly mortified by his clumsy words.   
“Oh, yes, very common. The gardeners merely hit them on the head, chase them away,” she continued.   
“Hard life,” Harry said.   
“The price of peeping,” she said.   
Harry laughed. He was beginning to feel calmer in her presence. She was funny, calm, and confident.   
“You saw it too, didn’t you? The string,” Harry said. “Mine was here,” he said, and pointed to his wrist.   
“Mine was here,” she said softly, and placed her pointer finger on her chest, just above her bosom, which was held up and pushed forward by the tight bodice of her gown.   
Harry felt an airless hollow in his stomach, and moisture fill his mouth though his throat was dry. The girl’s breasts were round, and the skin there looked soft, creamy brown, tinged with a faint blush. He knew she didn’t mean it to be an enticing gesture, but Harry’s body certainly didn’t know that. There were girls at school, and he had noticed good-looking girls, before, but this was different. His body felt as if it knew her, and yearned for her again, not for the first time. His hands felt eager for her breasts, his skin cried out for her skin.   
“My friend was telling us this story about soulmates, back at the pub…she said that’s what a red string means. Do you believe that?” Harry asked.   
“I don’t know,” she said. “I believe there must be a sort of fate. But, how can we ever be sure of that sort of thing? Perhaps its better to simply…go along. Let life happen.”   
“That sounds miserable,” Harry laughed.   
“Oh, and spending one’s life counting up omens sounds like a holiday to the shore?” she said.   
“No, I suppose not. But, the red string wasn’t like anything else that’s ever happened to me. It must be something,” Harry said.   
“Well, at least it matched my ensemble perfectly,” she said.   
Harry liked how well she was taking all this. He admired bravery and good humor over all other qualities, and he liked her smile and the breezy tone of her refined, soft voice.   
“Would you like to take a walk?” Harry asked.   
"With a boy whose name I don’t know? Who doesn’t know my name?” she said.   
Harry was embarrassed. “Oh! Of course. I’m Harry Potter,” he said.   
“Pandora Black,” she said.   
“Black? My godfather is Sirius Black!” Harry said.   
He and Pandora left the bookstore together, and began to walk down the street. She wrapped her shawl closer around her shoulders. Harry wished that he had done it for her.   
“He’s my father’s brother. He was banished from the family,” Pandora said.   
“He told me about that. He actually went to live with my dad’s family, then. They took him in, cared for him, treated him like their own. And, when my parents died, he took me in as his own,” Harry said.   
“I’ve never heard anything from him. I suppose he and my father had been estranged for some time, before my father died,” Pandora said.   
“That’s a shame,” Harry said.   
“What is he like, my uncle?” Pandora said.   
Harry smiled. “He’s a madman. He’s taught me everything-how to play guitar, how to ride a motorbike…but, he’s rather mad. In the best of ways. We live here in Hogsmeade, but he’s often away in London, at the Guild.”   
“Yes, even though he was banished, he took my grandfather’s seat, at the Guild, after my grandfather died,” Pandora said. “Do you aspire to the Guild, Mr. Potter?” Pandora asked.   
“I dunno. I think I’d better serve the Guild as an Auror,” Harry said.   
“A hunter of Dark Magic practitioners?” Pandora said.   
“My family…they were murdered by Dark Wizards. I want to make sure no one else loses everything to dark magic,” Harry said.   
“That’s very heroic. But, the people who love you will worry for you,” Pandora said.   
“Sirius understands. And my best mate, Ron, wants to be an Auror, too,” Harry said.   
“Then it seems nothing is in your way,” Pandora said. “Just think, if our parents had lived…everything would be different.”   
“I think about that a lot. Constantly, really. Even when I’m not thinking of it,” Harry said.   
“Yes-its like that,” Pandora said. “I suppose you are my godbrother. How strange, that we’ve never met before! And when Neville Longbottom told me about you, said that you were one of his friends, I didn’t know of any connection between us. Or when I saw your name in the newspaper.”   
“The newspaper?” Harry said, looking uncomfortable.   
“Oh, yes-the fight on the street, between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Newspapers always make these things sound thrilling-hexes ablaze, spells ringing,” Pandora said, with healthy irony.   
“It was nothing so glorious as all that. Pathetic, really. I shouldn’t let gits like Malfoy rile me up, I know it,” Harry said.   
“Malfoy? Draco Malfoy?” Pandora said.   
“Yeah,” Harry said darkly. “If you know Neville, I’m sure he told you about that prat, Malfoy. He’s always starting trouble, especially if you’re Gryffindor. Well, he’s a complete snob to anyone who’s not in Slytherin, and always starting fights. He said something about Ron’s family being poor, and things got out of hand.”   
“So…it had nothing to do with Dumbledore?” Pandora said.   
“I know that’s what people are saying. Dumbledore’s Army…tosh. Just Malfoy’s big mouth, as usual, starting trouble for attention,” Harry said.   
“How can the truth be so different than the version that ends up in the papers?” Pandora said.   
“That sort of thing used to infuriate me, too-but look at it this way, the news is a business, isn’t it? People have to make money, so they say what they need to sell papers,” Harry said, with a shrug.   
“How cynical! Shouldn’t the press always tell the truth?” Pandora said.   
“Should do, sure, yeah. Do we always do what we should do?” Harry said.   
Pandora seemed to remember something. “Lucy! I should be at Honeyduke’s, to meet my cousin,” Pandora said. “And, I can’t be seen walking with a boy my aunt doesn’t know.”   
“Of course. The long lost godbrother story probably wouldn’t fly on such short notice,” Harry said. “but, I can’t let you walk alone, either.”   
“I’m sure if I explain, it will be all right. She might even tip you a Galleon for being such a gallant chaperone,” Pandora said.   
“More’s the better; since we’ll be at Honeyduke’s, that Galleon will go fast,” Harry said.  
Pandora laughed. “So, you have a sweet tooth, then?” she said.   
Before Harry could answer, she heard her cousin Draco’s voice roar out, “Potter! What do you think you’re doing with my cousin!”


	6. Chapter 6

The bridge Harry had crossed was in sight. He and Pandora Black, his godsister, as it turned out, would have to turn back to make it to Honeyduke’s, they had quite overshot it as they walked and talked. Every time her arm brushed his, although velvet and wool separated their skin, Harry could feel the warmth from Pandora’s very being graze him.  
“Potter!” he heard Malfoy’s familiar, sharp, aristocratic, peevish and seething voice behind him. What he didn’t expect was what he said next:  
“What are you doing with my cousin?”  
Harry turned around. Draco was looking at him with his face twisted in a sneer, and he was flanked by his usual Slythering gang-Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini, Nott. Harry swore, internally. He was used to having Ron by his side.  
“Cousin?” he said, bewildered.  
“Get away from her, Potter!” Draco said, more genuinely furious than Harry had ever heard him. The Slytherin boys around him looked sullenly violent.  
“Draco, do listen,” Pandora said.  
“Shut up! Walking with Gryffindors, what on earth has gotten into you?! If this gets back to Father…” Draco said.  
“He’s my godbrother!” Pandora said.  
“Godbrother?” Draco said. “As if I give a damn! Stand aside, Pandora!”  
He shot a hex at Harry, which Harry luckily dodged, and then it was on. Harry drew his wand, and as the Slytherin gang drew their’s and began to fire spells, Harry returned fire. His blood sang, his senses were sharpened to their finest, and he felt hatred and excitement burning within him like a potent fuel.  
A few Hufflepuff boys, whom Harry vaguely recognized as Buttershaw and Middlewood, rushed up and joined in, on his side. Flames and lights flew, and the smell of singed hair and clothes filled the air. Harry heard a splash, and realized that Draco had gone over the bridge, into the river. 

Pandora was horrified. The boys were having a vicious sort of fun, dueling, and had forgotten that she was in the crosshairs of their magic. They were getting scraped and burned, but hardly cared. They cared for nothing but hurting each other. As she was about to run away, she heard the splash.  
Draco had fallen over, into the river below the bridge! She feared instantly for his health, and thought of all the bouts of illness that he’d had, the way he couldn’t sleep for coughing in the long nights, his fevers.  
She ran to the bridge, and pulled the Malfoy wand Lucy had given her out of her reticule. She thought of a spell that she knew, and the water was rocked to foam. It formed a large, pellucid bubble around Draco, and the bubble rolled him to safety on the shore. 

“Go! Go help him out of the water!” she shouted to his best friends, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. They rushed to the shore, and picked Draco up.  
The boys who’d run to Harry’s aid were laughing.  
“Pandora!” Harry said.  
“I have to go,” she said.  
He grabbed her arm, and she wrenched it away.  
“My cousin needs me. He’s my betrothed. We’re to be married. Its always been that way,” she said.  
“You didn’t say anything! You let me go on about what a git he is…” Harry said.  
“This isn’t my fault!” Pandora said.  
“No, that’s not what I mean. Can we talk?” Harry said frantically. Pandora rushed off.

Crabbe, Goyle, and Zabini took Draco to the Three Broomsticks, to a spare room above stairs. Pandora sat beside his bed. Despite what Harry had told her about her cousin, she knew him as a frail boy, and as usual when he was ill she was concerned. She grasped his hand. His eyes, the same gray as her’s, locked on her’s, and he said,  
“What were you doing with that little flea, Potter? He’s the most toxically self-absorbed person I’ve ever encountered,” Draco said.  
“Don’t worry about that, now,” Pandora said.  
The door of the room opened, revealing Narcissa, Lucilla, and Professor Snape. Narcissa gestured for Lucy to remain in the hall, and she and Snape entered the room.  
“Draco! What have those animals done to you?” Narcissa cried out.  
“Narcissa-your health,” Snape said. He opened a bag, and handed her what looked like a flute. She put it to her lips, and rather than blowing, she sucked at the pale wood, and then exhaled wet, phantasmagoric, curling smoke. She closed her eyes, and sank into a chair beside the bed.  
Pandora was alarmed. She had never seen her aunt take any of her ‘medicines’ that way.  
Snape put some herbs in a bowl, and with a wave of his hand water appeared in it.  
“Draco, sit. Drink this,” he said. Draco did so.  
“Back to the castle,” Snape told Crabbe, Goyle, and Zabini, and they left.  
“Pandora, tell me what happened,” he said, looking at her.  
It was scary, how he could be so stern and correct now, as if he had never looked at her with desire, breathing as if it was a struggle, touching her hair as if he wanted to touch more of her. Somehow, she felt prompted to go along and pretend that all was normal too, even though shame squirmed in her belly.  
“I was walking….” She said.  
“Not alone,” he said.  
“With a boy called Harry Potter. We met at a bookshop, and he was…kind. I thought he was kind. But, then, Draco ran into us, and some of Harry’s friends, as well, and…” Pandora said.  
“Potter revels in his infamy. He’s frequently in trouble, and shows no signs of correcting this tendency towards rabblerousing,” Snape said.  
Narcissa continued to smoke from the pipe, then put it aside looking both taxed and pacified.  
“May I speak to you alone, Pandora?” Snape said.  
“I mustn’t leave my cousin, and my aunt,” Pandora said. Draco was dozing off, and Narcissa had a thousand yard stare that unnerved her.  
Pandora had little choice but to go downstairs to the pub, with the Professor.  
He ordered a simple meal for them, and they were seated to wait for it. Pandora looked around at the Hogwarts schoolchildren, boys in long trousers, dark coats and school scarves, quite unlike the frock coats, waist coats, and breeches boys wore in the Arcane Vale, the same styles that had been worn there when the Vale was gifted from the Faeries during the English Regency. The girls wore short gray or black skirts, and sat and talked with each other and boys with the same freedom. She observed no coquettish flirtation, but instead they gestured, laughed, listened and talked as if all in these groups were equals, friends.  
“You look as if there is something on your mind,” Snape said.  
“I suppose I was thinking about my parents. My aunt told me today that it’s a good thing, that I am learning more than girls usually do. She said Draco and I will be able to talk, the way that my parents used to, and that my mother would be proud. If education was so important to my parents, to my mother, I wonder if she would have wanted me to go to school…and what would that have been like?” Pandora said.  
She imagined, almost saw before her, herself in a short skirt and knee socks, wearing a school scarf, walking into the Three Broomsticks with Harry Potter, the two of them talking and laughing like old friends. The ghosts of a time that had never been faded as Snape answered,  
“School is for children. You have a much greater destiny. Today, your first element answered to you, water, and I have seen for myself how you can coax the earth. Your magic runs deep, Pandora, and the arts I hope to teach you will be a much more worthy conduit than the Guild-approved curriculum at the castle,” Snape said. “However, I want to teach you, above all, what you would most like to learn.”  
Pandora wondered if she had been wrong to be so uncomfortable around him. She was told that she resembled her mother, what if Snape had been fond of her mother and was simply being sentimental? She’d run into old friends of her mother’s who’d shed tears at the sight of her, before.  
“Healing arts,” she said. “My father, from what I understand, was working to cure the weakness of heart that claimed my mother’s life before he, too, succumbed to the weakened state to which he had been reduced by his tireless efforts, and grief. I would like to heal.”  
“The healing arts require energy to be raised before it can be expended,” Snape said, “and that is quite different from the flash and bang of dueling with a wand. It is a process that requires much reflection, commitment, even seclusion, at times, and the habitual practice of many acts.”  
“I am also interested in alchemy,” she said.  
“The Transfiguration of elements,” Snape said. “Alchemy is a matter of timing. One must join the rhythm of the seasons, the moon, and the stars seamlessly.”  
“Professor…I believe that I can do these things. I can learn whatever you put before me,” Pandora said.  
“Then, you will need a wand of your own,” he said.  
“I have one,” she said.  
“And, from what I can deduce, it belonged to Tiberius Malfoy, long dead. This wand should have been released upon his death. Your own instrument will answer to you most readily,” Snape said.  
“I can’t ask my uncle for that sort of thing,” Pandora said. “It would be like asking for a ….car.” She tried out the Muggle word that she’d heard, and had only the faintest idea of its meaning.  
Snape looked bemused-it was a faint impression in his eyes, and around his mouth.  
“Have you ever seen a car, Pandora?” he asked.  
Pandora laughed. “No! Never!” she admitted.  
Snape’s smile became fuller, when she laughed, and he took the moment to reach for her hand.  
Pandora pulled it away.  
“Would you prefer Potter?” he said. “Perhaps I shall inform your uncle of the walk you took with a Gryffindor boy, a boy such as that, and the trouble it caused your cousin.”  
Pandora felt as if she was underwater. Walking with Harry Potter was the biggest mistake she had ever made. She had always feared that she would do something unforgivably ungrateful to upset her Aunt and Uncle. If Snape told her Uncle about her walk with a Gryffindor boy, the ward of her disgraced uncle Sirius Black who was Lucius’s opposition in the guild, they would surely send her away quietly. Maybe they’d find a place for her in a small Faerie court of a petty prince, where she would be an exotic, ridiculous novelty as hunchbacks, dwarfs, and dressed monkeys were in Renaissance Spain’s royal court. Pandora the Witch, who performed small tricks, and married a minor Fae knight. Or, they’d lock her in her room until her wedding day, and instead of the educated companion they’d hoped for she’d be one of those women whose relatives frown at them discouragingly when it seems like they are going to speak.  
“Please, Sir,” she said.  
Snape looked more relaxed in his chair. This pleased him. She could see the enjoyment in his eyes.  
The barmaid, a buxom and frizzy haired, earthily beautiful witch called Madam Rosmerta brought their food.  
“Here you are, Professor. And who’s this?” she said.  
“Pandora Black-Ada Valancourt’s daughter,” Snape said.  
“Is that right? I was in school the same year as your Mum. Class act, she was. Never looked down on anybody, and smart as a whip. She never made a big noise about being sick, she just wanted to get on with things, and I’ll tell you what-she had this very determined, robust walk, when they’d take us girls out to walk for exercise, around the lake. I had a hard time keeping up with her! She was a tough, uncomplaining little thing, like that,” Rosmerta said.  
This version of Ada sounded steely and determined, stoic but good natured-not quite like the delicate dove that Vale folks described her as.  
“Did my mother have a wand?” Pandora asked.  
“Why, yes, but you see, she actually broke her first one, in our third year! I remember because she was so angry at herself, and she liked to get everything perfectly. But, she said the second one worked better than the first, so that was all right,” Rosmerta said.  
“It sounds as if you were close,” Pandora said.  
“Well, to know her was to love her, really. Like I said, she never looked down on anyone, and that’s a rare thing anytime, but especially now,” Rosmerta said.  
“I never knew that she was at school!” Pandora said.  
“For a few years. She left to get married. And then she had you! And look how you turned out. Beautiful as a picture,” Rosmerta said. “Are you starting school?”  
Before Pandora could answer, Snape answered, “Pandora’s education is my responsibility.”  
Rosmerta didn’t exclaim or congratulate Dora, instead she said, “Well, there’s so much fighting there, now. School might not be the place for girls, anymore. It was lovely to meet you, Pandora. Your mother was a lovely person.”  
Pandora thanked her.  
“I do apologize for that attention seeking poseur,” Snape said.  
“Its all right, I always enjoy talking about my mother,” Pandora said.  
“You certainly have Ada’s patience,” Snape said. “Pandora, I want to be closer to you.”  
“Pardon me?” she said.  
“For your education. I’m going to apply for a spot in the Vale,” Snape said.  
Because she knew he had applied and been denied before, she suggested, “Why don’t you become our Merlin? You already take care of Aunt Cissy, and Draco, and tutor me.”  
A Merlin was a wizard who served an individual or family in the role of healing care, and advice on hard decisions.  
“I will see what I can do,” Snape said.  
Why, she asked herself, did she invite him closer to her life?


	7. Chapter 7

Harry’s stomach felt sick, and he knew it was from shame. When he was face to face with Remus, and Dumbledore, in Dumbledore’s office, he realized that he had thrown away Remus’s advice, and his own promises that he would not fight.  
“Why, Harry? Does anything I say truly get through to you? Your parents sacrificed their lives so that you may live, and you seem intent on throwing their sacrifice away over schoolboy grudges,” Remus said.   
Dumbledore put a calming hand on Remus’s shoulder to stop what could fast become a tirade.   
“They’re not schoolboys, they’re Slytherins! They killed my parents!” Harry shouted. He hadn’t meant to, but the words came out in anger.   
Remus was shocked. “Harry…you can’t possibly associate your schoolmates with the Dark Wizards who followed Lord Voldemort. They’re just children, as you are.”  
“They’re all the same. They’re turning out to be murdering filth, just like their parents. You don’t hear the things they say…” Harry said.   
“Harry, we must rise above our hatred for the sake of our future. Those who thirst for revenge are not seeking justice,” Dumbledore said. “Which would you rather have?”   
“What’s the bloody difference?” Harry asked.   
“This is the spoils of war. Do you know how Richard the Lionheart died, Remus? Not in battle, as he would have surely preferred…but from the poison of an arrow, shot by a peasant boy in France. The king was standing feet away from the archer, and when he was apprehended, he asked, ‘Boy, why have you killed me?’ The boy answered that his father had been killed by Richard’s army, years before. Such is war,” Dumbledore said.   
“You can’t suggest that Harry is justified to feel as he does,” Remus said.   
“No, Remus, I am saying, look at the boy. He is not taking this lightly. He is taking it harder than you realize. Don’t let the anger and hatred consume him,” Dumbledore said.   
“Harry…I’m sorry. I had no idea that your feelings for Slytherin coven extended this far. I have no doubt it is as you say, that some boys have been radicalized to support Lord Voldemort. I watched it happen when I was at school. But, they do it out of fear. For those born to power, they are trying to preserve it, keep it out of the hands of those they discriminate against as inferior. For those seeking power, it’s a ticket to influence. Then there are those who have neither power or any expectation of it, but do take pride in their prejudices and want to be amongst those who share them and strike them as natural, rightful masters,” Remus said. “But, where they use fear, intimidation, aggression, and avarice as their cudgels, we must arm ourselves with the powers they have no use for.”   
“Such as?” Harry asked.   
“Love, firstly. Compassion, reason, empathy, forgiveness, and justice,” Remus said.   
Harry nodded.   
Dumbledore looked satisfied, and said, “You may go back to classes, Harry. And you will be relieved to hear that Potions has been cancelled for the afternoon. Professor Snape has been detained in the village.”   
“Small mercies,” Harry said.   
Remus smirked. He’d been at school with Snape, and there was no love lost, there.   
Harry opened the door to Dumbledore’s office, and saw Ron and Hermione. They leapt upon him with questions, and he tried to answer them all. He also explained about the red string.  
“At least you’re not the bloke attached to Lavender,” Ron said.  
“Oh, would you feel the need to defend her honor?” Harry said.  
“Me? Seriously?” Ron said.  
“‘My only love, sprung from my only hate,’” Hermione said. “Its just like Romeo and Juliet.”  
“Do they go to Beauxbatons? Penpals of your’s, or something?” Ron asked.  
“Well, I’m not going to be sneaking into the Malfoy crypt to see her. I suppose I’ve just got to forget all about Pandora,” Harry said.  
“What if it isn’t that simple?” Hermione said. “It’s like Heathcliff told Cathy, ‘How do I live without my life? Without the other half of my soul’?”  
“Who are these people?” Ron said.  
Harry laughed. It was so simple for the two of them. They were obviously crazy about each other, they just had to get their heads out of their asses. He would most likely never see Pandora again, and if he did, what could he say? What would either of them say?

Professor Snape decided that Pandora and her family would stay overnight at the inn.  
“Will you write to Uncle of this?” Pandora asked.  
“I have not decided, yet. I’m still weighing how much to tell him,” Snape said.  
How much, Pandora had no doubt, of her part in Draco’s injury. She guessed that Snape’s decision rested on her behavior.  
“You demonstrated a competent mastery of water today, Pandora. A good understanding of the elements is key, for an alchemist or a healer. This will help you to grasp the fundamentals of nature’s elements, and how they balance each other,” he said, handing her a book.  
It certainly wasn’t Hawksmoor. The book was full of charts, symbols, and metaphorical drawings. Some were Eastern, with pictures of several layers of celestial paradise contained within the body of a meditating Buddha. Others seemed to come from the European Renaissance, and depicted symbolic images like dragons in jars, Red Kings and White Queens, mermaids, unicorns, and dying kings turning into trees. The pictures were fascinating, but the text was very poetic and philosophical.  
On the inside flap, she saw the signature, ‘Ada Black.’  
This was her mother’s book! After her marriage! She ran her fingers over her mother’s signature.  
Pandora read the book closely, and fell asleep in her room at the inn, reading.  
She began to dream, and heard the rustling of the wind in the trees. 

After classes, Harry attended dinner in the Great Hall, beneath the light of dozens of floating candles, the gaze of portraits, adornment of tapestries, and the scrutinizing gaze of his classmates. The Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and fellow Gryffindors were penetratingly curious, the Slytherins looked like they wanted to jump him in a dark corridor if ever they got the chance. Harry endeavored to ignore it all. As he ate, he replayed those precious moments with Pandora before Malfoy had burst in with his thugs. She was beautiful, to be sure, but that wasn’t the only source of the deep allure he felt towards her. It was the strongest compulsion he had ever felt, and was surely magic…but no less real. Some magics deliberately created illusions, some created what had not been before.  
“You’re thinking of her. I told you, it would be hard to forget her,” Hermione said.  
“Well, don’t remind him that he’s ill, tell him what he can do to get better,” Ron said.  
“We could go to the library…but, I have noticed that there is a very sparse amount of the collection devoted to matters that have anything to do with sex or….things of a romantic nature,” Hermione said.  
“Why, what were you looking for?” Ron said.  
“General information! Some sort of magical equivalent to the Masters and Johsnon sexual response cycle, I suppose,” Hermione said.  
“You and Ginny! Such dirty mouths!” Ron said.  
“What? I haven’t said anything!” Ginny said, with a mouth full of corned beef. She turned to Harry, and said, “I reckon I know someone who can help you with this red string business, about that Malfoy girl.”  
“She’s not a Malfoy. She’s Sirius’s niece,” Harry said.  
“Well, all the same. Come to the village with me, at tea time tomorrow,” Ginny said.  
“Yeah, sure. Where?” Harry asked.  
“Madam Puddifoot’s,” Ginny said.  
“That horrid tea house, with all the hearts, flowers, and frou frou fripperies?” Ron said.  
“Frippery?” Ginny repeated skeptically.  
“That place is rather like being kidnapped by all of the Edwardian age,” Hermione admitted.  
“Who’d you go there with?” Ron said. It was a notable date destination.  
“Yeah, well that’s the front. Real business is in the back. Love magic,” Ginny said. “She’s an expert in that stuff. She can tell you how to manage it with your Malfoy girl.”  
“I’ve told you-Pandora’s not a Malfoy. She’s Malfoy’s cousin, but aren’t most people round here cousins? Her father was Sirius’s estranged brother,” Harry said.  
“Regulus Black? He was mad, wasn’t he? I heard he went funny after his wife died, tried all these alchemical experiments to bring her back,” Ron said.  
“Well, that’s effort. Sort of romantic,” Ginny said.  
“Ginny!” Ron said.  
Harry went up to bed after dinner, feeling buoyed by the banter of his friends, and the hope that Madam Puddifoot could help him with the Red String Situation.  
He thought of what he knew about Pandora, so far. She was related to Sirius…but also to Malfoy. Apparently, her father was a mad alchemist, who’d tried to bring her mother back from death. Harry hated to agree with Ginny’s morbid, flippant observation, but that did speak to a profound devotion to his wife, Pandora’s mother. Besides, how many times had he wished that bringing his parents back to his side was possible? If it was a matter of a long journey he had to undertake, he would walk countless miles, climb mountains unscaled. If there was anything he could do, he would do it.  
That was the crowning similarity. They were both orphans, and Harry could tell there was nothing he had ever felt that Pandora would not understand. Harry fell asleep, and began to dream. The first thing he heard was the rustling of leaves in a gentle breeze. He saw that he was in an oak park, the kind adjacent to a country estate. The trees were old and strong, with abundant green leaves that filtered the sunlight to green as they rustled in the wind. Just over the trees Harry could see the roof and chimney of a house. The sun felt warm on his face, and as he sniffed the air he smelled mild, sweet smells of spring-fresh grass and fruit blossoms, and somewhere, unseen, lavender.  
He felt her before he saw her, but the sight of her still thrilled him. Pandora was wearing a thin, white, linen dress, and a long silken wool shawl like a mantle over her head. It trailed to the ground. She looked like Eurydice must have when she appeared, restored, before Orpheus in the Underworld.  
Pandora looked at Harry, meeting his gaze, as she smoothed the shawl away from her curly black hair.  
“Where are we?” Pandora asked.  
“Dunno,” Harry said. “But, its beautiful.”  
“Its so warm here,” Pandora said. “Am I dreaming of you, or are you dreaming of me?”  
Harry smiled. “I’m afraid I don’t know that, either.”  
“Bit of a disappointment,” Pandora said, with a bemused smirk.  
“Perhaps we’ve gone to Narnia,” Harry said.  
Pandora frowned. “Where?” Pandora said.  
“Never mind,” Harry said. “Let’s explore.”  
Girls from prosperous pureblood families typically were kept at home, so Harry hadn’t met many. Ginny was an exception, her family was modern, progressive, and wouldn’t dream of either restricting her education or forcing her into marriage. She played sports, wore jeans, and was indistinguishable from students like Hermione who lived in the Muggle world part time. However, Pandora had an air of refinement that made Harry want to be chivalrous, gallant, a gentleman. He held his arm out to her. It seemed the done thing, like Colin Firth in one of those BBC dramas Remus liked to watch on lazy weekends.  
Pandora took it, and they walked through the tiles of shadow and sunlight on the grass.  
“I apologize for today, for fighting with your cousin and his friends. When I saw what Crabbe and Goyle were about, I should have gotten you out of there. Instead, I made everything worse,” Harry said.  
“Its all right. I always figured my cousin was no little angel at school,” Pandora said.  
Harry laughed. “Hardly,” he said.  
“The Covens have their differences. That’s just how it is,” she said.  
Harry was relieved that she was being so sensible. They walked through the oak park, listening to the sound of birds, reveling in the warmth and bouquet, and in each other’s nearness. Harry was too giddy to speak, but longed to say the perfect thing.  
“So…you haven’t given up on me?” he said.  
“We’ve only just met, Mr. Potter. I take it you are unsuitable for me to talk to, and to know. You’re a Gryffindor, you and my cousin are rivals, and my disgraced uncle raised you. But, you must know, that as I am a woman, I will always find a way to do what I am not supposed to do,” she said.   
Harry laughed, glad. “So, you truly don’t care?”   
“Not while we’re here, at least,” she said.   
“No…I don’t think anything could be wrong here,” he said.   
The park ended in a meadow, sloped so that it resembled a bowl of violet flowers, or a palm full of flowers offered by the hand of the earth herself. On the other side of the meadow, the sun touched an orchard of apple trees in bloom. The white flowers glistened invitingly.   
“Shall we stop here?” Pandora said.   
She spread her shawl out on the flowers, and she and Harry sat down. When he looked into her eyes, he could tell that she felt the same excitement and familiarity that he did.   
Pandora took his hand, and Harry almost flinched away from happiness. It was too much.   
“There’s so much I feel that I can say to you. This place is twice as beautiful as it is, because it is the first thing we get to share. I feel I can share so much with you, Mr. Potter,” Pandora said.   
“Harry,” he said.   
“Henry?” she suggested.   
“No, its really just Harry,” Harry said.   
“How odd!” Pandora said.   
Harry rubbed his thumb into Dora’s palm. He could tell that she liked it.   
“I want to tell you everything. How I’ve felt, about everything. I’ve never felt like that, before,” Harry said.   
“No, nor have I,” Pandora said. “I love my family…my aunt, and my uncle, my cousins…but there are times when I feel as if nothing is simply mine, truly mine. When I saw you for the first time, I felt that you were mine.”   
Her words had set Harry free. He said, ardently, “I know you’re mine. I knew it at once.”   
Harry’s roommate, Seamus and Ron, talked incessantly of girls. Dean was more respectful, and didn’t add much to these conversations. All the boys talked around the fact that Harry had little to add. He’d never kissed a girl, but the gravity of this place moved him and Pandora together. He felt a jolt like lightning running beneath his skin when he moved close and his lips brushed her’s. They were both unsure, at first, and pulled away and went back in a few hesitant times. Finally, it was perfect, and they kissed in earnest. Time seemed to melt and expand, as Harry’s lips moved against Pandora’s. Their rhythm swept him up completely, and Harry had never felt his mind so at peace.   
Pandora’s hands ran up and down Harry’s chest and stomach, leaving fire in its wake. Her hands’ warmth bled through his shirt, and he felt heat in his nipples. Harry moaned into Pandora’s mouth. Her tongue slipped into his mouth. He’d heard of French kissing, but couldn’t imagine what was pleasant about it. Now, he understood. Pandora’s tongue against his gave him frissons of feverish arousal. As they kissed, Harry ran his hands over any part of her he could touch…her hair, her arms, her back, and finally the breasts that had drawn his attention on their first meeting. Pandora made a noise that was a cross between a sigh and a groan, and the reverberations of it shook Harry beneath his skin, echoed in his blood. The pit of his stomach quaked, and his heated skin bloomed with sweat out of arousal.

“Some dream, Potter!” Seamus said, and threw a pillow at him.  
“Should have heard yourself, Harry-who were you dreaming about?” Dean said.  
“Probably Professor McGonagall,” Seamus said.  
The boys laughed, and Harry, drowsily awaking, sat up.  
“What?” he said.  
“Well, mate, you were carrying on,” Ron said.  
“I…was dreaming,” Harry said.  
The boys’ eager eyes looked at him, waiting for details.  
“But, it was nothing,” Harry muttered, and lay back down, on his side. He shut his eyes and tried to fall back to sleep. Though the smell of apple blossoms lingered, he did not see Pandora or the meadow again.

Pandora had never suspected that her body possessed this range of feelings, the fire that she felt in her face, her back, her nipples, and between her legs as Harry potter touched and kissed her. Warm nectar pooled between her legs, flowing from the inner channel which was quaking like a fault line waking up. When Harry kissed her breasts, her nipples rang with arousal, which travelled throughout her whole body like wildfire. She felt it even in the dark when she abruptly woke up. Gone were the apple blossoms, the meadow, and Harry…she felt a stab of distress almost like sadness to find the cool other side of the bed and empty pillow. Pandora pressed her thighs together, and this stoked the heat to a sweet, palpable peak. She coaxed the inner muscles to draw closer together, to squeeze and suck, to release, and couldn’t help but cry out when the wildfire within her reached its fullest flare.  
Her body felt relaxed, and was quickly succumbing to drowsiness when she heard a knock on her door.  
“Miss Black?” it was Snape. “Are you all right?”  
She felt furious. Why couldn’t he give her a moment’s rest?  
“Yes, Sir,” she said.  
He opened the door anyway. Pandora scrambled to smooth out her chemise, but she couldn’t make it any thicker. The linen material was incredibly thin. She grabbed at her red cashmere shawl, and wrapped it around herself like a blanket.  
“You’re having trouble sleeping,” he said.  
“No, I’m fine,” Pandora said.  
“I heard you. Moaning. Sighing. Mewling,” he said.  
Pandora opened her mouth, but didn’t know what to say. This was more dreamlike than the meadow and orchard where she had been able to be with Harry, to feel him close, and kiss him…In this dark, unfamiliar room, which was so small, she felt riveted to where she sat on the narrow bed. She couldn’t move, or look away from Professor Snape.  
“What were you dreaming about?” he said.  
Pandora usually knew the right thing to say, and what people expected of her. In the deepest chamber of her heart, she felt she knew what Snape wanted, too, but not what to do about it. He was her Uncle’s trusted friend, and her tutor. She had made the suggestion that he become their family’s Merlin because….she thought it would flatter him, and maybe if he thought she respected him as a skilled wizard he would somehow back down.  
She had been foolish.  
“I’d be happy to make you a potion, for your…restlessness,” he said.  
Like the substance in the pipe that he had given her aunt? She didn’t want to be sedated that strongly, not by him.  
“That is not necessary, Sir. I suppose I have so seldom spent nights away from the Manor, its hard to fall asleep in any room but my own,” she said.  
“And I can help with that,” Snape said. He opened his ever-present bag, and uncorked a small vial.  
How to play this? Pandora couldn’t very well slap the vial out of his hand, tell him that she never wanted to see him again, and run away. That wasn’t how their world worked. She wasn’t a free girl in a school scarf, sitting in a café with friends, some of whom were boys.  
She accepted it, and drank the fluid that tasted vaguely like mint. Not bad. She didn’t expect it to be so potent. Much like after her climax, she was overwhelmed by dizziness, but this felt false, too abrupt, to be overcoming her body rather than being risen from and released from deep within it.  
“Lay back, Pandora. Relax. Let the potion take its effect,” Snape said. He sat beside her, and touched her hair, stroked it freely.  
“Professor…I’m sleepy,” Pandora said. His voice was kind and soothing as he stroked her hair, and her shoulders. His hands trembled, and his dark eyes shone, enrapt, as he touched her. “This will not hurt,” Snape said. Unable to move, her hands heavy from the drug, Pandora lay still as Snape’s lips met her neck. He licked a stripe up her neck, and then Pandora felt his lips press against her neck, as if in a kiss. Dark waters rose around her, and sleep suddenly overtook her.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's Draco/Ron in this chapter-surprise! Also, Pandora confronts Snape.

“I have written to your uncle…but I refrained from mentioning how Draco fell. I said that he was boating with some friends,” Narcissa said in the morning, as she and Pandora dined in the Three Broomsticks.  
Narcissa looked at her breakfast sausage as if it had personally offended her.  
Pandora wanted to hide beneath several layers of clothes, and jump in a hot bath…and sleep for years. She felt so tired and heavy.  
“Darling…what is wrong? You mustn’t feel guilty about walking with that Potter boy. No doubt he offered you his assistance, and seemed perfectly lovely. He wanted to lure you into a trap just such as this,” Narcissa said.  
“He’s not the one trapping me. Professor Snape…Aunt, he touches my hair, and gives me potions, and looks at me…” Pandora said. “But, I thought he would be pleased if I told him he was a good wizard… so I suggested that he become our Merlin… he’s going to tell Uncle, and I’ll never be rid of him…”  
She realized that she was sobbing as she spoke. Madam Rosmerta was cleaning glasses behind herbar, but looking closely at Narcissa and Pandora. Narcissa grabbed Pandora’s wrists.

“Get ahold of yourself,” she hissed, her gray eyes gone glacially cold. In a thick whisper, she said,  
“You should be grateful to Severus, for preserving both your cousin’s life, and your reputation.Walking with the Potter boy?! He lives with that filthy uncle of your’s. Sirius was meant to marry my sister, Bellatrix…then he betrayed our family time after time, running off to London to depraved Muggle dens of iniquity, talking like them, dressing like them…and now he agitates at every turn in the Guild council, parroting that old fool Dumbledore’s remarks. And as for that Potter boy’s parents…a fop and a Muggle, you guess which is which.”  
“Aunt…” Pandora said. She didn’t know what to think. One minute, her aunt didn’t blame her, the next her voice was full of disgust and blame. She was on the edge of frantic, and Pandora suspected Snape’s drugs for her aunt’s state of mind.  
“I don’t want to hear any more lies about Severus. We need him. Your cousin and I…we do not enjoy health, the way you do. He gives me my medicine…I need him,” Narcissa said.  
Pandora only wanted Narcissa to be calm. “Yes, of course. Aunt, I understand. Please, please Aunt, calm down,” she said.  
Lucy came down stairs, skipping, at first, and then she saw Narcissa.  
“Mamma? What’s wrong?” she said.  
“Just my nerves, dearest. My nerves were never strong,” she said. “Come here, my dear girl.”  
She hugged Lucy.  
“Girls,” she said, once Lucy was seated beside Pandora, “Our social calendar for this weekend has changed, somewhat. Draco is not well enough to travel back to the Vale for festivities. We will be staying with Professor Snape, in his private rooms at the castle, and taking the Founding Day festivities in the village.”  
“Is Draco that ill?” Lucy said.  
“He’s not ill at all, not anymore…thanks to Severus. He is the only one who knows how to handle Draco’s constitution,” Narcissa said. “he will be able to attend the Founding Day festivities, but a long journey back to the Vale would be too strenuous. We have many friends and relations here, in Hogsmeade. I have had to write our apologies to our many friends in the Vale, of course…but they are quite used to me suddenly changing my mind!”  
“So am I, as of now,” Pandora said angrily. “May I go up to see Draco?”  
“Yes, of course,” her aunt said, sounding pleased.  
Pandora went up to Draco’s room. She expected to see her cousin lying in bed, looking pale and misted with sweat. Instead, she saw him with his nightshirt rucked up to his chest, his legs wrapped around the body of a young man with bright red hair, dressed in a Hogwarts uniform. They kissed the way she and Harry had kissed in her dream, moaning shamelessly, holding onto each other as if they were drowning.  
Pandora cleared her throat, and the two broke apart.  
“You should go back up to the castle,” Draco said.  
“Don’t tell me what to do, Malfoy,” said Ron Weasley, whom Pandora knew well from the Vale. His numerous family lived on the outskirts of the Vale, in a village called Whisper-In-the-Vale, and his mother was a healer who often looked after Narcissa’s migraines, before Professor Snape.  
“Ron!” she said, but he was focused on hurrying out of the room.  
He blew past Pandora, and went downstairs.  
“Explain, Cousin,” Pandora said.  
“You saw nothing,” Draco said.  
“I think if I had come in a bit earlier, I would have seen everything,” Pandora rejoined.  
“Sorry if this changes your plans. I don’t think I’d make for a very attentive husband. However,this is the very excuse you need to run off and elope with Snape,” Draco said.  
Pandora felt as if she had been doused with cold water. In the back of her mind, she saw his hands in her hair, but she had been so sleepy that she couldn’t be sure what happened in the room above the inn…  
She played it off. She had been hiding her loneliness and ache for her parents all her life.  
“No one is waking the blacksmith of Gretna Green on my account any time soon,” Pandora said.  
“Oh? First Snape, then Potter…every time I turn around, you’re sneaking off with some man. If I wasn’t doing the same, I’d be quite peeved,” Draco said.  
“I only just met Harry Potter. Aunt said his parents were ‘a fop and a Muggle’,” Pandora said.  
“Well, a Muggle Born, at any rate, his mother. And his father was from those hair people. They make that hair potion, and used their fortune to buy influence on the council-with Dumbledore’s encouragement, of course. Give a Gryffindor an inch, they take a mile,” Draco said. “Potter is as smug as they come. He was pink with the healthy glow of celebrity when the Dark Lord kidnapped him to sacrifice at the Dark Trials.”  
“That’s not the story Neville Longbottom told me at the Springhavens’,” Pandora said.  
“Longbottom! He thinks the sun shines out of Potter’s ass,” Draco said.  
“Draco, you can pretend all you want that you hate all Gryffindor boys…but clearly that isn’t true,” Pandora said.  
Draco sighed. “Of course I don’t hate Ron. Things got a little out of hand, last week. I might have insulted him a bit too convincingly because he failed to meet me, as promised, in the Astronomy Tower at midnight. I hate it when people don’t honor commitments,” he said.  
“Well, you always liked him, even when we were quite small,” Pandora said.  
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Draco protested, but he and Dora both knew it was all bluster.  
Pandora said, seriously, “Draco, Aunt and Uncle expect us to marry each other.”  
“They’ll have to grow accustomed to disappointment,” Draco said.  
“I see now, that is the only future they contrived for me. They raised me from infancy, and planned that I would stay in the fold by marrying you. I don’t know what else there is for me, beyond what they have planned,” Pandora said.  
“There’s a world out there, Pandora,” Draco said.  
“What am I to do in it, though?” Pandora said.  
“I am in the same boat as you. I can’t very well tell them who I really am…or that I am in love with a Gryffindor,” Draco said.  
“Well, then perhaps we should get married anyway, to preserve our secret lives,” Pandora said.  
“We haven’t touched the surface of your secret life, cousin,” Draco said.  
Pandora felt fearful. Images flashed in her head of the night before, and of the folly tower.  
“Cousin?” Draco said. “I was only joking. I know you haven’t done anything improper. Are you all right?”  
“So, we are going to be rooming at the castle, for now. In Professor Snape’s private quarters, Aunt, Lucilla, and I. And we will be attending Founding Day celebrations in the village,” Pandora said.  
“Mother informed me. She’s taking those Faerie powders, again,” Draco said.  
“Again? Do you mean that her medicines…” Pandora said.  
“Are not medicines at all, but strong powders and potions, from the Faerie realms,” Draco said.  
“Father certainly isn’t the only wizard to instruct the physicians to give his wife a taste of them so she’ll be…easier to manage.”  
“And Snape does the managing, is that right?” Pandora said.  
“I thought you and the Professor were quite close. You talk as if you despise him,” Draco said.  
“Since I can’t be rid of him, I will make him useful to me. He’s promised to help me become an alchemist. And he will deliver on that promise,” Pandora said.  
“Cousin. With such spleen as that, I quite regret that I can’t be a proper husband to you. I am so used to you, I saw you as a little girl…but, now I see we could have set the world on fire,” Draco  
said.  
“Thank you, Cousin,” Pandora said. She kissed Draco on the cheek, and said, “sleep tight. You need your rest.”  
Pandora knocked on the door of Professor Snape’s room in the inn.  
“Ah, Miss Black,” he said. “Good morning.”  
Pandora pulled Tiberius Malfoy’s wand from her reticule. A white gold flame protruded from the wand, and came to a sharp point, which Pandora held to Snape’s throat.  
“Close the door,” Pandora said.  
Snape did so. He was backed against the door, the flame at the end of her wand still against his throat.  
“What did you do to me, last night?” Pandora said.  
“Fire answers to you as easily as water did. You are progressing encouragingly, Miss Black,”  
Snape said. His sang froid was infuriating.  
“Answer me plainly, or I won’t restrain myself any longer,” Pandora said. “What did you do to me, last night? What was in that potion? Did you…ravish me?”  
“If I had, you would surely be feeling it now, wouldn’t you?” Snape said.  
He looked triumphant when he saw realization on her face. He was right. Pandora wasn’t entirely ignorant of these matters…she knew if Snape had penetrated her, she would be torn and sore. She didn’t feel as if that had happened.  
“Never touch me, or look at me with your pathetic, over-reaching lust, again!” Pandora said. “And don’t think to threaten me with that day on the bridge, with Harry Potter. It is nothing, compared to you, drugging my aunt and me with Faerie powders.”   
“What is it that you think you know, Miss Black?” Snape drawled.   
“It is exactly as I say, and you cannot tell me otherwise,” Pandora said, assuming the cold, imperious demeanor her aunt took with servants and tradesmen.  
“Make your demands,” Snape said. Pandora didn’t like his mocking tone, but she said. “No more Faerie powders. And, as I said, you will never touch me again. Also, you will help me to become an alchemist.”  
“Very well, Pandora,” Snape said, and she lowered the flaming wand. “will that be all?”  
Pandora was shaking. She left Snape’s room as fast as she could.

“Where were you, this morning? Where’d you disappear to?” Ginny asked her brother.  
“Me? You’re mad, I’ve been here, the whole time,” Ron said, but Harry marked how nervous his friend seemed. It was strange. But, he was more focused on the dream he’d had of Pandora: her filmy dress, her soft, warm body, her silky hair, her lips, her breasts... The thestral drawn carriages deposited the students who wished to visit the village for their freeperiod at Hogsmeade, and Ginny led the way to Madam Puddifoot’s tea house.  
“Seriously, who’d you go here with?” Ron asked Hermione. She glared.  
“Well, maybe you should’ve asked her out first,” Harry said.  
Hermione and Ron looked at Harry as if he had just started speaking in tongues. He’d thought it was plain as day that they liked each other.  
Confused, Harry, followed the rest into Madam Puddifoot’s. As Hermione had said, the décor was very Edwardian, fusty and old-fashioned.  
“Welcome!” Crooned a stout witch in a white blouse, a long skirt, and a lace shawl. “How can I help you, dear children?”  
“What do you know about red strings of fate?” Ginny said.  
Madam Puddifoot said, “Come into my parlor.” The back parlor was smaller than the tea room, and more simply furnished. No velveteen furniture, lace tablecloths and doilies, or ceramic figurines, just a round table covered in a floral cotton tablecloth, the winter sunshine shining out of a high window.  
Harry explained his situation and, though his face burned as he did so, he even told Madam Puddifoot about his dream of Pandora.  
“Hmmm….” She said. “Love is a mystery, dearie. I can’t tell you what it consists of. Its not achemical, or a machine, something with materials we know like a mountain or a diamond. But, I can certainly tell you if it is present. I can see the string, even though you cannot see it. The girl is at the castle.”  
“At Hogwarts? Pandora? Right now?” Harry said.  
“Yes. What you experienced last night was no dream. Your minds are open to each other, and to stay close even when you are far apart you must use this connection. Concentrate on the essence of your beloved, on her presence. Feel her, on the other side of the chord which connects you,”  
Madam Puddifoot said.  
Harry closed his eyes. This sounded like a much deeper magic than he learned at school, but he was eager to see Pandora again, so he was devoted to trying. He closed his eyes, and summoned the way he felt when he knew that she was near.  
He saw her in her red dress and shawl, by the fireplace of a stone room in the castle. She looked like a painting by Waterhouse he had seen in a museum with Remus and Sirius.  
“Pandora,” Harry said, and she turned around, searching for the source of his voice.


	9. Chapter 9

Pandora looked around, this way and that, for Harry. Was he concealed in the tapestry of a lion hunt? None of the bearded medieval hunters’ faces had emerald eyes, or eyeglasses. Was he invisible? Miniature? Up the chimney?  
“Dora!” he said again, and this time she knew that his voice was blooming within her mind.   
“Harry?” she thought. How is this possible?   
“Madam Puddifoot said we can talk like this because of our connection-like the dream we had last night,” Harry said to her, in their shared thoughts.  
Who, Dora wondered, was Madam Puddifoot?   
“A love witch in the village,” Harry answered.   
“That one was meant to be private. I’m not used to sharing my thoughts,” Pandora said.  
“It does feel funny,” Harry said. “Not bad, though.”   
“No…I suppose because it’s you,” Pandora said.   
“Because it’s you,” Harry echoed, and asked, “Dora, what are you doing at the castle?”   
“My Aunt wants to be close to Draco. Professor Snape has volunteered his private quarters for our use,” Pandora said.   
“Do you think I could see you, later?” Harry asked.  
Pandora thought about it. She didn’t know her way around Hogwarts, and no boy from the Vale would be so indelicate as to ask a young lady to wander around a strange castle. But, how often did a boy ask you to wander around a strange castle? It smacked of Mrs. Featherstone’s novels of young witches in peril. Their stories always ended happily, with true love prevailing. If Pandora took the same chances as them, she felt she had a chance at happiness, too. If you don’t try, how can you get what you want?  
“I’ll try to manage it,” she said. “The chord will guide me.”   
“Try to come by the Astronomy Tower-no one uses it in the day,” Harry said. “Maybe around 5? We have a study hour before dinner.”   
“I’ll find it,” Pandora said.   
“I can’t wait to see you,” Harry said.   
Happiness filled Pandora’s body. She felt like she had swallowed a rare wine brewed from sunshine. It was so unlike Snape’s potion.   
“Who are you talking to?” Narcissa asked, and glanced at the fireplace.  
Pandora withdrew her thoughts from Harry’s.   
“Stelliana,” she lied. “I had to inform her that I won’t be at the Candlesnows’ ball,” Pandora lied.   
“I’d already written her mother,” Narcissa said.  
Her aunt was wearing a loose white dress and a blue cashmere shawl robe over it, her hair braided and adorned with small violets. They reminded Dora of the meadow of wild violets in her dream.  
“You look lovely, Aunt. I’m sorry that I upset you before,” Pandora said.  
“Hmm? When was that?” Narcissa asked.  
With horror, she realized that the drugs had altered Narcissa’s memory. She felt she had no choice but to play along, or she would upset her aunt further. 

Buoyed by hopes of being close to Pandora again, soon, Harry had a pleasant tea at the Pendragon with Ron, Ginny, and Hermione. They ate roast beef sandwiches on thick bread with a soft, fluffy middle, and a crisp crust, and hot, spicy mustard, with sharp but sweet cider. They browsed shops, and Hermione said,  
“Let’s buy some masks, for Founding Day!”   
The Faeries were said to visit, on this day, so the custom was for wizards to wear faerie costume appendages so that all blended and were equal in appearance.   
“Who wants to celebrate Snob’s Day?” Ginny said.   
“We live in the Vale, and we’re not snobs,” Ron pointed out.   
“Yeah, but the people who throw fancy balls are,” Ginny countered.   
Ron shrugged. “I dunno, I like the parade, and the fireworks. And I never met a Faerie before, but I could-who knows?”  
“There’s plenty of Faeries at the Goblin Market; we could go there now,” Harry said.  
He loved being a Hogsmeade insider-the other Hogwarts students sometimes stuck to the Three Broomsticks, or walks along the river. He had lived there since Remus and Sirius found him, when he was 12.   
“As long as we don’t eat the fruit,” Hermione said, referencing the Christina Rossetti poem.   
“’Course not,” Ron said, “it would be out of season.”   
As they approached the gates of the Goblin Market, which were garlanded with roses that never faded, the first thing they saw was the ever-turning Ferris wheel. It was in the center of the market, and towered over its surroundings, casting Faerie music like a spell. The four friends entered, and their eyes were drawn in several directions. Rustic and Trooping Faeries, of low social status in their realms, were free to travel between worlds, and to sell minor charms. The Faer were, themselves, a feast for the eyes, with an array of the striking features that Wizards masqued in on Founder’s Day: wings, horn, eyes with a gemstone’s lustre, or embers for pupils, bodies formed of mist or smoke, covered in feathers or opalescent scales, and the moist, shiny skin of lizards, stamped vividly with color.  
Musicians played, dancers, tumblers, jugglers and acrobats performed, all over the shouts of merchants from tents selling cures for life’s irksome ills: forgetfulness, baldness, unwanted guests, debt, impotence, etc.. They also sold jewelry, silver, cloth, wands, ornamental weaponry like bejeweled daggers and swords, and Faerie pets.  
Ginny tickled the chin of a teddy bear-like creature, while Ron encouraged silky fish in an aquarium to the front of the glass by tapping it.  
“Whoa! How did I never know this place was here?” he marveled.   
“Its one of Hogsmeade’s best kept secrets. Remus comes here every Sunday for fresh herbs. He’s a foodie,” Harry said.   
“A what?” Ron said.   
“It’s a Muggle word for someone who really likes food,” Harry said.   
“How daft! Everyone likes food,” Ron said.   
Hermione said, “Harry, since you’re meeting Pandora later, maybe you should bring her a gift.”   
“You think so? I’ve never done anything like that, before,” Harry said. “Maybe…chocolate?”   
“Does she like chocolate?” Hermione asked.  
“Um…we haven’t discussed it,” Harry admitted. “There’s a lot we haven’t talked about, but I feel like I need to be with her. Its such a strong feeling.”   
“This is the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard,” Hermione swooned.   
“I used to think that some people got to have this kind of thing happen to them, and other people weren’t cut out for it,” Harry said.   
“I know the feeling,” Hermione said.   
“What I said earlier about you and Ron: I could tell it didn’t go over well. I just always assumed that you two were crazy about each other, beneath all the bickering. I assumed, but I guess I shouldn’t have,” Harry said.   
“Well, you’ve learnt something then, haven’t you?” Hermione said.   
Harry couldn’t help but smile-Hermione had a matter-of-fact tone and quick mind that not everyone appreciated, but he greatly did.   
Hermione’s face lit up, and she dragged Harry over to a stall selling Faerie jewelry. A point-eared woman with long indigo hair, in a blue velvet dress nodded to them.   
“Hail, well met,” Hermione said respectfully.   
“Well met,” said the Faerie woman. “What do you seek?”   
“Um…something for a girl,” Harry said.   
She looked to Hermione, but Harry said, “No, another girl. I’ve only met her once…well, twice if dreams count…but, we’re going to see each other later.”   
“And what is it you want your gift to tell her?” asked the Faerie woman.  
Harry thought about this. He wanted to tell Dora that his feelings might be fresh and unexpected, but he had true intentions. Walking with her felt like the beginning of something, and the meadow and orchard in the dream they had shared felt like a place that was meant for them. Maybe it was really out there, somewhere.   
“I guess…that I really, really like her,” Harry said.   
Hermione smiled fondly.   
The Faerie woman gestured to silvery pearls resting on a blue velvet stand.  
“Pearls from the bottom of the ocean between worlds. The primordial waters turn the crystal sands ceaselessly,” she said.   
“Ah-that means they represent perpetuity, perhaps even fidelity,” Hermione said. “Do you think that’s too weighty, for a second meeting, Harry?”   
“Well…Dora seems fancy. I think she’d like Faerie pearls,” Harry said.   
“Faerie jewels are priceless, and these are quite elegant,” Hermione said.   
“You’re amazing. I have no idea about any of this,” Harry said.   
Hermione smiled, bemusedly, and said, “Harry, trust me: I know.”

Pandora was granted a respite from Snape’s presence while he taught classes. Lucy read from a book of poetry out loud while her mother slept in one of the unused bedrooms of Snape’s quarters. Hogwarts professors commonly lived at the castle with their spouses and children. As Pandora, Lucy, and Narcissa acquainted themselves with the space, it was obvious that Snape normally only had need of the office, small sitting room, and bedroom.  
Something about their stay at Hogwarts seemed…off, Dora felt. Yes, Draco had a fall. But, he was recovering just fine and was back in classes. The damage that missing so many Founding Day events in the Arcane Vale could do to their social relationships was not the small matter that her aunt had made it out to be. Losing face was normally something the Malfoy family wouldn’t abide. Draco had mentioned Lucius being like other men who managed their wives with Faerie drugs…Was there something that Lucius didn’t want Narcissa to know? Were they being kept from home because of something her uncle was keeping secret?  
Perhaps, Pandora decided, the man drugging her aunt would know. She began looking through the Professor’s desk for correspondence between him and her uncle.  
“What are you doing?” Lucilla asked.  
“Is Aunt Cissy asleep?” Pandora asked.  
“Yes,” Lucy said.  
“Good,” Pandora asked.  
She decided to be honest with Lucy, who had so many questions. When Pandora was her age, just two years before, she still wore ribbons in her hair and was very concerned with getting everything right: dancing, conversation, dressing, being pleasing, generally. She wished she could skip the painful awkwardness of being a girl to the days in the future when she was a married lady with a household to manage, friends to call on, and daughters to instruct.  
“I don’t trust Professor Snape,” Pandora admitted, and said, “I think Uncle’s asked him to keep us away from the Manor, for some reason.”  
“Why would Poppa not want us?” Lucy said. Her gray eyes were wide with distress, and Pandora knew that at that age, her first thought was to think she had done something wrong to cause these events.  
“I don’t think he doesn’t want us home, Lucy-but I think there is some reason why he needs the Manor free for his own use, during this time,” Pandora said.  
“Why?” Lucy demanded.  
“I don’t know, but I believe Professor Snape does,” Pandora said. “Ah-ha! Letters with Uncle’s signature.”  
Pandora stuffed them into her reticule, to read later.  
“Dora!” Lucy said, glancing at the door, and its turning knob. Pandora waved her wand, set Snape’s desk right, and hurried to the sitting room. She sank into the couch and feigned reading her mother’s alchemy book. Snape strode into the room. He ignored Lucy and zeroed in on Pandora.  
“Are you enjoying the Tabula Smaragdina, Miss Black?” He asked.  
‘So, we’re back to Miss Black’, she thought. She dreaded him calling her by her first name, in light of the other liberties he had taken. He seemed to be trying to stump her, as well, and prove that she had not really been reading The Emerald Tablet. In truth, she had been pouring over it the night before for more evidence of her mother’s handwriting. Ada Black’s notes lined the spare space of the book. She had never seen her mother’s handwriting before. Some of the notes were in French, or Latin.  
“The Emerald Tablet is most fascinating,” she said.  
“What do you think Hermes Trismegistus means by, ‘The sun is its father, the moon is its mother’ ?” he asked imperiously.  
Pandora thought of her mother’s notes, as well as the symbolic illustrations. She knew that ‘sun’ could mean gold, and moon, ‘silver’; but the celestial bodies could also stand for sulfur and mercury.   
“The parents of the alchemical child, the Red King and the White Queen,” she said.  
“You seem to be growing comfortable with the precepts quite rapidly,” Snape said, sounding pleased. “At five, this evening, before dinner, we will review in my study.”  
Five? That’s when she was meant to meet Harry! Why hadn’t she told him that it wasn’t possible. Dash Mrs Featherstone and her Arabellas and Calanthas, who always seemed to have happy endings-real life was full of obstacles, but with no author writing her out of them. Of course she would rather be with Harry, than Snape, but she didn’t know where the Tower was, and she couldn’t leave Snape’s quarters. And, she couldn’t seriously displease him, it would be to risk her magical education. She longed to unlock the secrets of alchemy, and understand her mother’s notes on the Emerald Tablet.  
“Five?” she repeated.   
“Does that hour not please you, Miss Black?” Snape said.   
Before Dora could answer, an owl flew in the window behind Snape.   
“Staff meeting…at 5,” Snape said, reading its message. “Miss Black, for a girl who threatened me with a flaming blade for the privilege of an education, you seem rather relieved to be released from your commitments. Perhaps you’re better suited to magic without a wand, after all.”   
Pandora had set her wand on a table, after righting Snape’s desk. It quaked, floated in the air between her and Snape, and snapped in two before his furious gaze.  
“How shall I do magic?” Pandora said, anguished.  
“With the wand you will make. You will combine all that I will teach you of how to chart the stars and name the wind, of the balance of the elements, and create a wand that truly belongs to you. You’ve taken the Malfoys’ charity all your life, but no longer-not where magic is concerned,” Snape said.   
Pandora was speechless. Was Snape not her uncle’s old friend, and her aunt’s and cousin’s physician? He spoke of her family with such contempt.   
“Come, Miss Black. We have ample time to devote to your studies before 5 o’clock arrives,” Snape said.   
Lucy looked at her uneasily. She tried to tell her, with her eyes, that she had everything under control, before she had to turn away from her cousin and follow Snape into his study.

“Got an idea-I’ll walk up to the Astronomy Tower with you,” Ginny said, as she and Harry walked up a grand staircase.  
“Ginny, you know why people go up to that Tower during the day…people will think we’re dating,” Harry said.   
“Duh,” Ginny said. “People will talk about us, no one’ll know about you and the Malfoy girl.”   
“Pandora, who is a Black, not a Malfoy,” Harry said.   
“Wonder how Sirius will take it, you dating his mad brother’s daughter,” Ginny said.   
“I dunno. He’s been so busy with the Guild,” Harry said. “Anyway, why wouldn’t he be pleased? They’re family.”   
“Yeah, and he disowned them all for a reason,” Ginny said. “Chiefly because they were all Riddle sympathizers, from what I recall.”   
“Pandora was just a baby like the rest of us, when that happened,” Harry said.   
“But, even though she was raised by dark wizards, she’s different?” Ginny said.   
“Look,” Harry said, stopping on the landing in front of a Rococo painting of a woman on a swing in a garden, “One minute, you’re helping me out, like offering to walk up to the Tower with me, or recommending Madam Puddifoot, now you’re basically saying this is a horrible idea. Which is it, Gin?”   
“Just forget it,” she said, and stormed off.   
She ended up at the library, in the hopes that Hermione would be there.   
“I suppose he has a point,” Hermione said, when Ginny recounted all that Harry had said.   
“Yeah, but how am I supposed to take this? Watching him risk it all and do everything for this Slytherin slag who’s probably illiterate and inbred, when I…I know him. I care for him. I always have. And I wait, year after year, for him to see me as more than a bloke. I’m a bloke in a skirt, to him!” Ginny railed.   
“You aren’t yourself around anyone, Ginny,” Hermione said. “You hide your feelings. How is anyone supposed to know how you feel?”   
“So, its on me?” Ginny said heatedly.   
“Don’t get upset,” Hermione said.  
“Don’t talk to me that way! As if you know everything! It clear, you don’t understand,” Ginny said.   
It was torture, watching Harry buy this Pandora Black a gift. He so casually handed the Faerie woman at the jewelry stall the money for the Faerie pearls, as if they weren’t a small fortune, as if they weren’t the sort of thing families handed down for centuries. Her mother didn’t have anything like that to hand down. Any Prewett family treasures she had inherited were long pawned in some dodgy shop in Hogsmeade or the wizard’s quarter of London, to feed their family. Ginny hated how her father had squandered her mother’s inheritance on his inventions, which the world never seemed to need-but, he tinkered away on his latest passion project, as giddy as a child.   
“You worry too much,” her mother always assured her, and insisted that love was all a family needed to be happy.   
However, she also stressed to Ginny that school was her chance to ‘meet the right sort of boy’. Molly’s face lit up and looked younger, rosier, when she told Ginny of the Founding Day balls and Floralia, Rosalia, Lupercalia, and Saturnalia festivals she had attended before her marriage, and the people she had known. She recognized some names from her classmates, but while their parents had all been contemporaries, Ginny barely knew their children. They shied away from her-she was poor, her father was mad and had an indifferent career, they lived in an unfashionable part of the Vale,etc. She got the impression that her mother had had a dazzling life, before the war, before her marriage, the kind of life Ginny knew she wasn’t cut out for. She wasn’t the kind of girl who could wear Faerie pearls…   
Ginny wiped the tears from her eyes, as she wandered the stacks of the library. She acted as if her own plainness and obscurity didn’t bother her, and people had fallen for the act. She was the funny one, the friend, not someone that a boy would buy pearls for…   
“Don’t cry. You’re too beautiful to cry…” said a silky male voice in her head. His voice had a deep, masculine timbre, but a refined cadence that spoke of the kind of life her mother described in her stories: visiting in country houses, refined conversation in drawing rooms, balls.   
“Who are you?” Ginny asked.   
“Your friend,” he said. “Meet me in your dreams, tonight.”   
Harry had spoken of meeting Pandora in a dream. This was it! Her soulmate! He’d found her…and he sounded like all of the things she wanted. She didn’t see a red chord, but Ginny figured these things must happen differently for everyone. 

Harry climbed the winding steps to the tower. He couldn’t resist pulling the Faerie pearls out of his pocket, then putting them back. What would he say, he wondered, when he presented them to Dora? What would a posh like Malfoy say, when he gave a girl Faerie pearls? He wished that she had been there when he found them-that they’d caught her eye while they were taking a walk and she pulled him over to see, like girls did in Muggle movies. He imagined the two of them arm in arm in the Goblin Market as the enchanted music of the Ferris wheel played.  
“What a lovely thought, Mr. Potter,” she said, her voice blooming like a delicate flower in his mind.   
“Its Harry,” he reminded her.   
“I know who you are,” she quipped.   
Harry suppressed a laugh, and said, “I’m almost there-are you in the observation room?”   
“I told you the chord would guide me. I found it with a simple Locator Charm. But, it was a dashed long walk!” she said.   
This time, Harry did laugh. He felt not only the reverberations of laughter in his belly, but a pull at his navel, the red chord pulling him towards Pandora.   
He opened the door of the observation room, and there she was-her hair was up, rather than loose around her shoulders, wearing the red velvet dress and silky woolen shawl he’d met her in. Her gray eyes were radiant with happiness and love, and her brown skin and enticing figure called to him. He couldn’t wait, and kissed her. Pandora’s arms came around Harry’s shoulders as their lips met, finding the effortless dance they had in their shared dream. Harry moaned breathily, and Dora swallowed the sound. She kissed him with her whole heart, and their combined ardor made Harry shudder. He felt not only his own desire, but Dora’s, and the excess of love echoed on his skin, and in his bones, while the press of Dora’s bosom against his chest, and the butterfly-like flitting of her hands across his neck and back, all made him feel dizzy with happiness.  
Finally, he pulled away and managed to right his breathing, to say, “I brought you something. From the Goblin Market.”   
“There’s a Goblin Market, in the village?” Pandora said, sounding enchanted.   
Harry nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Before I was 12, I lived in an orphanage. Then, Remus and Sirius found me, took me in, brought me here, to Hogsmeade. We go to the Market all the time. Anyway, I went there today with my friends, and…I found this.”   
He pulled out the pearls from their blue velvet pouch.   
“They’re exquisite!” Pandora said.   
“They’re really all right?” Harry asked shyly.   
“‘All right?’” she repeated. “Oh, you silly thing! Yes! They’re perfect. But…a Faerie gift is quite special. Are you sure? We only just met.”   
“I want to give them to you,” Harry said, and tried to put all his feelings into words.

He hoped Dora felt that. The kids in the orphanage were always fighting over their things, trying to hide them from each other, not just essentials like food but some mundane thing that had become more precious to them than all the world, like a favorite pair of socks, or a marble. Harry had never had to worry about that particular source of conflict, because he had nothing he considered very special. Remus and Sirius would give him anything he asked, he had no doubt, and he loved surprises like the vintage Fender Stratocaster electric guitar he’d gotten from Sirius, but that was because of the memories they made while Sirius taught him to play. He’d much rather go to a film or movie and make a memory with someone than receive a gift.

Pandora was a treasure. She was the special thing that he had never had before, and he wanted to have many memories with her. He felt that all the things they hadn’t done and experienced yet were lying in wait, like a gift to be opened.  
His hands shook, as he put the pearls around her neck. He looked into her eyes as he did so, and she steadied him. He looked at how they fell, around her graceful neck, and over her full, prominent breasts. Dora reached out, and caressed his face. It felt so good, Harry felt frissons run up and down his entire body.  
Pandora kissed him, hesitantly at first, then more insistently and surely. She was passionate, and this made Harry less shy. Insistent fire danced in his belly. Pandora was so soft, so warm, and the heat and pliant softness of her body goaded the intoxicating desire engulfing his senses and guiding his hands.  
She moaned when he kissed her neck. Encouraged, Harry kissed the round swell of her breasts, one by one.  
“I felt this way last night…when I woke up, after dreaming of you,” she moaned.  
“Me too…” Harry gasped. He was aroused, and the friction of Dora’s body moving against his as they kissed was tormenting him.   
“Is this why you wanted to meet me again? Is this what the red chord means?” she said.   
This got through to Harry, and he knew that whatever the state of his body, he had to pull back.   
“No!” Harry insisted. They both sat on the stone floor of the observation room. “Dora…I don’t just want…that. I want everything with you. I want to know everything about you.”   
As she caught her breath, her full chest heaved. Harry forced himself to look away.   
“Hmm…well, my middle name is Alcyone, I enjoy the harpsichord, and I like chocolate,” she said. “Is that everything?”  
“So, I should’ve gone with chocolate?” Harry said.   
“You certainly can’t go wrong with it,” Pandora said. “But the pearls are beautiful. I shall always treasure them, Mr. Potter. Now, your turn.”   
“My middle name’s James,” Harry said. “I don’t particularly like the harpsichord…and I love chocolate.”   
“Well, that’ll do, for now,” Pandora said. 

Her lips were slightly swollen, and Harry’s tingled from their ardent kisses. His arousal was an ember in the heart of his belly, only needing her to touch and kiss him again to rally again. Even the skin beneath his shirt were sensitive from the weight of her bosom against his. They kissed again, a series of light, brief, teasing kisses.   
“Why can’t I seem to help doing that?” he said. His voice was ragged.   
“I know…I feel it too,” Pandora said, her voice breathy as well. Each word, and the breathlessness apparent in each word she spoke, aroused Harry, shook his skin, made him feel warmer and dizzier.   
“I must be near you,” Pandora continued, as he kissed the trail made by her neck and shoulder. “I want to melt into you. Like the Red King, and the White Queen…”  
Harry didn’t know what that meant, but finding out would distract him, he was sure, of how much he wanted Dora. He promised himself he would prove to her that he wanted more than sex.   
“Who are they?” he asked.   
“They’re alchemical terms. The Red King is fire, and all the forces of fire. The White Queen is water, and all the forces of water. Despite how different they are, they are each other’s natural partners, and yearn to be together. When they are brought together, we call it the Chemical Wedding,” Pandora said.   
“Alchemy? That’s pretty advanced, and very complicated. You’re brilliant,” Harry said. He was sure that Hermione would love her, and could imagine them having long talks no one else could understand.   
“I love it. I have one of my mother’s books, with her notes, and…I feel so close to her. She was an alchemist, too,” Pandora said. She sounded so excited, and happy.   
Harry smiled. “That’s good. I’m glad you have a way to feel close to her.”  
“Dear boy-you do care,” Pandora said.   
“Of course, Dora,” Harry said, and kissed her hair.   
“I’ll take it down,” she said, and unwound the ribbon that secured her up-do. Her long, black, curly hair tumbled to her shoulders. Harry kissed and caressed her hair, reveling in its silkiness, his face in her hair, exploring it as he longed to do the rest of her body. He had never known such fire in his blood.   
“Harry…,” Pandora murmured.   
“Finally,” Harry said.   
“I feel that I know you, now,” she said.   
He squeezed her hand. “We don’t have a lot of time, but there’s something I want to show you.”   
“All right…but if we’re going to walk through the castle, I’ll have to blend in,” Pandora said. With a wave of her hand, she cast a Glamour that changed her gown and shawl into A Hogwarts uniform.   
Harry couldn’t resist regarding her shapely legs in high socks and a pleated skirt.   
“I wanted so badly to go to Hogwarts, when I was a girl. I didn’t understand why Draco could go, and I couldn’t,” Pandora said.   
“Its not fair! Plenty of girls go to school,” Harry said.   
“But, plenty of girls don’t,” Pandora said.   
“Everyone should have a chance,” Harry said.   
Dora looked at him, stunned. “Really?”   
“Well, yeah, sure. The smartest person I know is my best friend, Hermione. She helped me pick out the pearls for you,” Harry said.   
“Then she is truly brilliant, and I am indebted to her,” Pandora said.   
“You’re going to love her. You two are going to talk for hours, I’m sure. You’re studying advanced magic-she’s advanced at everything,” Harry said.   
“She sounds truly exceptional! Maybe she’ll know the terms I can’t make out in my mother’s alchemical text!” Pandora said, excited.   
“I’d bet anything she does, or can find out,” Harry said. “As long as you’re staying with Snape, we can see eachother, and you can talk to Hermione.”  
Harry opened the observation room door, held it for Dora, and she walked out before him.   
“Funny you mention that,” Pandora said. “I stole some letters from Snape’s desk.”  
“Why?” Harry said, impressed.  
“They were from my uncle. I think Uncle has his own reasons for wanting Aunt Cissy drugged and away from home during Founder’s Day,” Pandora said.   
“Drugged?” Harry said, sounding shocked.   
She realized she’d said too much.   
Harry touched her arm.   
“Dora, is everything all right at your house? I hope I’m not going too far, to ask,” Harry said.   
“Harry…I don’t know. I have always been ever so grateful to my aunt and uncle for raising me as one of their own. I have never felt for a moment I was treated differently than Draco, Lucilla, or my eldest cousin, Anthea. I felt different inside,” Pandora said. “But, lately…there are so many secrets, so many shadows.”   
Harry hugged her. “I know that can’t be easy,” Harry said.   
“Thank you for understanding,” she said. “In any case, I hope there is some clue in the letters.”   
“For now, let’s just focus on us,” Harry said.   
“Cheers-to us,” Pandora said.  



	10. Chapter 10

“Just walk like you belong here,” Harry advised Pandora.  
She tried, but within the white cotton shirt, gray wool sweater, and pleated cotton skirt she wore, she was shaking. She and Harry walked in the throng of Hogwarts students, of which there were perhaps over a hundred in the wide corridor once they emerged from the tower, and she knew intellectually that no one could possibly tell that she didn’t belong. But she was afraid of the chance, and overwhelmed by the noise.  
“Don’t worry,” Harry reassured her, and hugged her round her shoulders.  
She could feel the warmth of his chest on her shoulder through his clothes. She wished he hadn’t so respectfully held back in the tower. She was quivering like a violin string, and wanted exactly what he did. It was completely different than Snape’s drug, her own feelings, her truth.  
She and Harry exited the castle undetected, and walked across a stone courtyard, then a small strip of green that sloped down towards a small cottage, whose chimney was piping dark smoke. Beyond it was a forest.  
“I want to show you the Fantastic Beast Menagerie,” Harry said. “First, you have to meet its keeper, Hagrid.”  
“I’ve heard of the Menagerie! I’ve heard the creatures that live there are a sight to behold,” Pandora said.  
Harry smiled, and when he did so, Pandora amended her earlier assessment that he was plain save for his eyes. He was beautiful.  
“You’ll love it,” Harry said. He knocked on the cottage door, and the man who opened was tall and burly, with a long beard, wearing roughspun clothes and smelling of tobacco. Although he looked quite imposing, he had a gentle smile.  
“Harry! Who’ve yeh brought round?” he said.  
“Hagrid, this is Pandora Black, my godsister. I’m showing her around Hogwarts,” he said.  
“Godsister, eh? This has been a long time coming, if I do say so myself,” Hagrid said. “Yer uncle,Sirius, is a fine man. A good friend-now that he’s all grown up, that is. A right demon when he was a boy!”  
Harry laughed, and Hagrid continued, “Always sneaking into the menagerie-but I can’t just let anyone through, any ol’ time.”  
“We were hoping you’d let us through, though-after a bite and a cuppa, of course,” Harry said.  
Pandora weighed her options-on the one hand, she didn’t want to be too long away from Cissy and Lucy, on the other she yearned for Harry, then there was Hagrid: he was clearly dear to Harry, and also a friend of her uncle’s. Whatever was going on with Lucius…maybe Sirius could be of help to her aunt. Estrangement or no, she was his cousin, and maybe Pandora, if Sirius heard good reports of her, could be the bridge between them.  
“Yes, that would be lovely,” Pandora said.  
They entered Hagrid’s hut. Pandora ducked the cured meat and drying herbs hanging from the eaves. The furniture looked handmade, and unsanded. Copper pots hung from the mantle of the fireplace, which was lit, and a large black dog slept beneath a rocking chair. The air smelled of leather and sage. Pandora had never been anywhere quite like this small place.  
“So, Pandora, how d’yeh like Hogwarts?” Hagrid asked.  
“I’m quite charmed by all I’ve seen, sir, and I do thank you for asking,” Pandora said. “I would love to learn more about the Menagerie.”  
Hagrid prepared their tea, and a lumpy sort of sodabread. The bread proved not to be so bad, when taken with the tea, and a lot of milk and a bit of sugar in the tea.  
“Well, there’s a story, one that started long before me. Suffice it to say, yeh won’t find no bigger or better collection of magical beasts anywhere round, and they’re all free to do as nature directs ‘em, no cages or anything,” Hagrid said.  
“It sounds quite humane. I love to spend time out of doors, in the Vale, collecting plant samples-is there impressive flora, as well as fauna?” Pandora said.  
“Flora, fauna, the lot-Harry’ll show you round,” Hagrid said. “you seem like a proper young lady. ‘Bout time, Harry! Yeh’re leavin’ school, and all. Yer parents were out of Hogwarts maybe a year, ‘fore they got married. Your’s, Pandora, left school a bit early.”  
“You knew them?” Pandora asked.  
“Regulus Black, and Ada Valancourt, isn’t that right? Yer Mum…terrible loss…one of Dumbledore’s brightest. He was an alchemist himself, after all, and had high hopes for her,” Hagrid said.  
“Dumbledore? I never knew my mother was one of his favorite pupils,” Pandora said. “Thank you, Mr. Hagrid. This makes me so very happy to hear!”  
Hagrid was so pleased his face was red, and he smiled broadly.  
“Well, back round to my original point, and all, anyway…what I mean to say is, it’s a good thing you two’ve found each other,” Hagrid said.  
As he held the door open for Harry and Dora, Dora thanked him once again, and kissed Hagrid’s cheek.  
As she and Harry headed towards the entrance of the menagerie, he said, “That was amazing! You’re brilliant! You know, some people aren’t so kind to Hagrid.”  
“I can’t imagine why not, he’s so genuine, and kind,” Pandora said.  
“Well, so are you. How about what he said about your mum?” Harry said.  
“I’m pleased…but I had no idea! Madam Rosmerta told me she was at school, and now Hagrid tells me that she was a favorite of Dumbledore’s,” Pandora said. “In the Vale, all anyone says is that she was sweet, mild, a dove, a dear, that sort of thing. I always felt like I had to be mild and sweet, to be anything like her.”  
“We all have different sides. Its all us. The people who knew her at school knew what she was capable of in a different way. Maybe Sirius could tell you more, when he’s home from London. The Guild’s been in a panic since Riddle came back and started attracting followers,” Harry said.  
“You sound like my uncle-no politics. Us, remember?” Pandora said.  
“Us,” he said, and held her hand as they walked onto the trail, under the trees.

The shadows of the trees abated to the first sight of the Menagerie- a grove of grazing hippogriffs. They had the strong and stout bodies of horses, but rather than fur they were covered in sleek, gray-brown eagle feathers. They had the heads, talons, and wings of eagles. Their eyes were a molten gold. Dora couldn’t look enough at these magnificent creatures as they grazed, and spread their wings to the sun.  
“They’re beautiful,” Dora said.  
“Wait till you see the Pegasi. Up ahead,” Harry said. Indeed, the winged horses were fantastic, with strong bodies and wings like the hippogriffs, but pearlescent white like unicorns.  
Harry and Dora walked more, observing the magical creatures. They came to the edge of the lake, and an arresting music began. Pandora closed her eyes, savoring the sound, and Harry said, “Dora, open your eyes.”  
She looked up, and over their heads flew a bird with lustrous rainbow feathers along its belly, and long tail plumage that trailed behind it like the ribbons of a silk kite. The bird flew, turning in languid and graceful circles in the air, and then gracefully landed on a tree. It had, Pandora saw, the face of a beautiful woman, and a woman’s lustrous hair. It spread its wings, and continued to sing.  
“It’s an Alkonost!” Pandora said. “They’re named for Alcyone.”  
“Like your middle name,” Harry said.  
“Yes. In classical myth, she was turned into a bird,” Pandora said.  
They listened to her song, enraptured, for a few more minutes, then more Alkonosts flew in, troubling the water as they lighted on the surface of the water. They raised their voices in a choir of ethereal, preternatural song. Dora couldn’t decide what was more beautiful, their resplendent song, their goddess-like faces, or their silken, jewel-like rainbow feathers.  
“Their songs are supposed to be lucky,” Pandora said.  
Harry kissed her. 

The flock of Alkonosts sang around them, floating on the surface of the silver lake, and suddenly, all the songs Harry didn’t understand before were elucidated. Every song about kissing, being in love, loving someone you shouldn’t love, finding the person you were meant to love, and love being able to overcome any obstacle. In that moment, they were all true.  
The memories of the perverted sham version of the Tri-Wizard Tournament that the Death Eaters called the Dark Trial were never far away. While they ran dangerous obstacles, dark beasts and Death Eaters firing curses thwarting them, fear and adrenaline combined to give Harry the energy he needed to run for his life. He and Fleur had survived…but Cedric Diggory had not, and Harry always felt the guilt there, like a dark bird over his shoulder.  
The dark bird had been replaced by the Alkonosts’ song. The memories would roll back in, like the tide…but, for the moment, Harry was happier than he had ever been.  
“Harry,” Pandora said.  
“I love it when you say that,” Harry said.  
“Your name?” she said, and Harry nodded.  
“You make me so happy,” Harry said.  
“And you, me,” Pandora said, “But, I should go back to the castle…”  
“Right,” Harry said. He tried not to be too disappointed. It was for the best.  
They faced the lake, and watched the Alkonosts fly away, over the treetops.  
“Pandora? Cousin? What a surprise! Oh, and Harry, hullo!”  
Harry and Pandora both turned around, and Harry recognized Maurice Buttershaw. He was a young, plain and honest looking young man with sandy brown hair, who was a colleague of Sirius’s in the Guild Council, as well as a magizoologist.  
“Hello, Maurice,” Harry said, and shook his hand. “How’s Sirius? How’s London? Have you seen him there?”  
“Harry, old boy, those Slytherins are giving us a run for our money on the vote to expand the jurisdiction of the Aurors,” Maurice said. “We’ve got strong Ravenclaw support, a smattering of Hufflepuffs, but…”  
“Expand the Aurors’ jurisdiction where?” Harry said.  
“Their abilities on undercover missions in the Muggle world, what kind of actions they are allowed to take. Oh, but look, we’re boring my little coz, aren’t we?” Maurice said.  
“You’re related?” Harry asked.  
“Maurice is married to my elder cousin, Anthea, Draco’s sister,” Pandora said.  
“I do hope Lucius Malfoy isn’t holding out on this vote because he never thought I was good enough for his daughter,” Maurice said. “If so, we’ll have to explore broader tactics than familial goodwill.”  
Pandora and Maurice both laughed. “Why did Lucius think you weren’t good enough for Anthea?” Harry asked.  
“Oh, I believe he doesn’t understand my work, and the importance of magizoology,” Maurice said. “I’m actually here on an anthropological study for the Scamander institute, to interview centaurs about their healing practices. Said to go back to Asclepius, you know. Hmmm…Asclepius: fancy that for a little boy, coz?”  
“Is Anthea expecting? She hasn’t written any such thing to Aunt!” Dora said.  
Maurice simply winked. “Well, some things are better said in person, no? Since you are here, you must come to our Founding Day fete. A lot of relatives, a few colleagues, that sort of thing. Fancy dress, whether you like it or not, only have to do it once a year,” he said. “Harry, do come round, as well.”  
“I shall tell Aunt. We are in Hogsmeade, for the holiday, me, her and Lucy,” Pandora said.  
Maurice seemed to find this odd, but merely said, “Oh?” to play it off, and added,  
“Then we look forward to the delight of your attendance, Anthea, and I,” Maurice said.  
“I look forward to hearing your good news, officially,” Pandora said.  
“Thank you, Coz. Harry-a pleasure. I must be off-wouldn’t want to keep a centaur as gracious as Firenze waiting,” Maurice said.  
Maurice went down the path, and Harry and Dora walked towards the castle.  
“You’re thinking about something, and quite intently,” Pandora said.  
“Just wondering what kinds of things the Aurors want authorized. If I ask Sirius, he might think I want to run away and enlist, or something,” Harry said.  
“Would you?” Pandora said.  
“I’m not 18, yet…but, if Riddle’s out there, calling himself Lord Voldemort, and getting people to buy his agenda that wizards, at least his kind of wizard, should inherit the earth, everyone else be damned, I want to do something about it,” Harry said.  
“Its admirable that you believe that you can,” Pandora said.  
“We all can,” Harry said. “Pandora…do you think your aunt is up the party at the Buttershaw estate?”  
“We’ll have to show our faces somewhere for Founding Day. I know Aunt will want to see Anthea, but if Maurice and Uncle are truly disagreeing about this bill…” Pandora said. “I will have to see what she says. Its delicate. But, if I can manage it…”  
“Then we can see each other again, tomorrow,” Harry said. “Let me walk with you, as far as we can?”  
“All right, but if Professor Snape sees…” Pandora said.  
“He won’t,” Harry promised. The future felt bright, and he felt invincible. He would see Dora again in a few short hours, the next evening, he was sure of it.


	11. Chapter 11

Pandora understood, now, why people wrote love letters-there is so much to say when you’re falling in love. She knew that she cared for Harry, and felt happier in his presence than she ever thought it was possible to feel, but she didn’t know the details of his life, all he had experienced and how it had shaped him. She looked forward to getting to know him better.  
“Aunt, since we are in Hogsmeade, perhaps we should call on Anthea?” Pandora suggested.  
“She’ll be too busy, this time of year, entertaining her husband’s relations and colleagues,” Narcissa said, sitting up in bed.  
“Of course, she’ll still want to see us,” Pandora said. “and, I believe the Buttershaws are having a fete.”  
“Ha! Elspeth Buttershaw’s tastes will prevail, I’m sure,” Narcissa said. Elspeth Buttershaw, Maurice’s widowed mother, lived on the estate with him and Anthea.  
“Anthea gets her taste from you, I’m sure it will temper Madam Buttershaw’s natural inclination to underwhelm,” Pandora said.  
Narcissa’s eyes gleamed with malicious delight, but she patted Pandora’s hand.  
“You know nothing of being a young wife. Anthea is a powerless ornament in that house. Until that useless old woman dies, she must be silent and obeisant in all matters. Our presence at a fete in that house would only complicate her position,” Narcissa said.  
“Not at all! We were invited-by Maurice,” Pandora said.  
“When did Maurice Buttershaw write to you?” Narcissa said.  
“He didn’t. I…saw him in the village,” Pandora said. “I went to the Goblin Market, to see if they had an herb I read about.”  
She knew it was a risk, lying about going into Hogsmeade…but she hadn’t been forbidden to leave Snape’s quarters, exactly, and it was better than admitting that she had been in the menagerie with Harry.  
Her aunt didn’t, as she’d expected, become furious.  
“Well, that’s another matter then, isn’t it? I can’t wait to see the look on Elspeth’s face,” Narcissa said.  
Pandora smiled. “What shall we wear?”  
“Pandora, who do you take me for? Word gets around when people of our status travel, and you never know who will invite you somewhere-I always travel with something for the occasion. I prepared something for you and Lucy, as well, of course,” Narcissa said.  
“Thank you, Aunt,” Narcissa said.  
Narcissa took Pandora’s hand.  
“You never have to thank me. Do you know how truly I love you, my dear niece? It makes me so happy to know you will always be apart of our family, that I will never have to relinquish you to some bitter, jealous old mother-in-law who only sees you as an emblem that she is growing old, that her son is grown and she has no power over him any longer. When each of my children were born, Lucius’s plans for them were formed, as necessary to secure the fortunes of the Malfoy family. I was no fool, when I married, it had all been explained to me, or I gathered what I needed to know on my own. But, to feel and to know are quite different. My children are not fully mine. But, my dear niece, you are. You alone, are mine,” Lucilla said.  
“I shall always be, Aunt. You, Uncle, Draco, Anthea, and Lucilla are my only connections on this earth,” Pandora said.  
Narcissa squeezed her hand.  
“That is not entirely true. You’ve met Harry Potter, you know he is the ward of your uncle, Sirius Black. Have you no questions about either of them?” Narcissa asked.  
“No. I have no interest in them,” she lied.  
“Good,” Narcissa said. “I don’t think it is a coincidence that Harry was the boy who offered to walk with you in the village. I’m sure your uncle has taken the opportunity to point you out to him, and he seized his opportunity upon encountering you alone. How he must have been seething all these years, that the Black fortune that should be his, as eldest son, was entrusted to an orphan girl, and managed by my husband in your interest, Pandora. He thinks he can reclaim what he forfeited through putting forth his ward as your husband.”  
“Aunt, why was my uncle Sirius disowned by his parents?” Pandora said.  
Hagrid had described him as a “demon” when he was a boy, but with a fond chuckle as if he was merely mischievous and spirited. Harry had said he was a bit mad, but in a good way.  
“Because he is a homosexual,” Narcissa said. “I gather you know what that means?”  
“Yes. He prefers the company of men,” Pandora said.  
“Precisely. Oh, he also has a quarrelsome nature, and adopted Muggle affectations like riding motorbikes and listening to rock-n-roll…but my aunt was willing to overlook these things to a certain extent, until he started tupping a halfblood, half-French, werewolf. To my knowledge, they’re still lovers. I don’t know my cousin anymore,” Narcissa said. “I always thought that no matter how he quarreled with the adults around us, he was a good person at heart. After the way he abandoned my sister, I had to pluck out every last strand of love which I ever entertained for him out of my heart. It was no easy task. Perhaps I always loved him more than I should have.”  
“He was meant to marry your sister?” Pandora asked.  
“He abandoned her, for his lover, said he couldn’t go through with the family' plans for him. Everything would have been different for Bellatrix, if he could have done his duty,” Narcissa said. “she went mad, dear. My parents thought she was faking, at first, but I knew the truth, instantly.”  
“Did she love him so very much?” Pandora said.  
“Ah, if you knew him, you would understand. We all did,” Narcissa said. “How Bella lorded it over us that she was the one meant for him, that she was promised to the handsome one, the clever one, the one brave enough to defy the whole world to do what he wanted, however outlandish or trivial it was. Out of all of us, only she had any hope of a husband she could truly respect, love, or have passion for.”  
“Why were you not promised to my father?” Pandora asked.  
“That would have been quite reasonable…but, I suppose my father found an alliance with the Malfoys more advantageous than keeping me in the fold. I’m sure there were reasons, at the time. You sound like Bella. She would always say, ‘Cissy, you know you have Poppa wrapped around your little finger, get him to change things round, betroth you to Regulus, and you and I shall live in Londinium together!’ Bella was always so sure of her future, and that if we only changed a few things round, all would be perfect-or, perfectly as she wanted it. He destroyed her future,” Narcissa said.  
“I’m sorry, Aunt,” Pandora said.  
“Those were hopeless days, my dear. My consolation is you, the life I have been able to create for you. Perhaps, when she was well, my sister was right-change a few things round, and you can create a perfect life,” Narcissa said.  
“You have done so for me, Aunt,” Pandora said.  
“Have I?” Narcissa said. She sighed. “I hope so, dear girl. Life…changes quickly. Well, I must try to eat something, if we are to travel today, and stay at the Buttershaws’ ball long enough to make Madam Buttershaw sick with envy in her own home.”  
“That shan’t take long,” Pandora said.  
Narcissa laughed. Pandora felt proud to be her aunt’s comfort. But, if she never forgave Sirius for not marrying her sister, what would she think of Dora if she didn’t marry Draco? 

“Write to me,” said the voice.  
Ginny was sitting alone on her bed. She preferred to be in her room alone during study hour than in the common room. Sometimes, the weight of the persona she had created, plucky and outrageous, felt heavy on her shoulders, and she relished time alone.  
Ginny didn’t know what to think. Was a voice in her head telling her what to do romantic, or something to worry about? It was happening to Harry, they had all watched him talk to Pandora at Madam Puddifoot’s…so she assumed there was nothing to worry about.  
She opened her new journal, which she hadn’t written a new page in, yet.  
“Hi…?” she wrote, feeling unsure.  
“Hi, yourself,” written in an elegant hand appeared on the page.  
“Where are you?” Ginny asked.  
“Beside you,” he wrote.  
“What’s your name?” she asked.  
She closed her eyes. She wanted to be surprised when she saw what he wrote.  
“Tom,” she read. Ginny was disappointed. Tom was a common enough name. She knew about six or seven Toms. She was hoping for a Fabian, or Desiree, or something.  
“Sorry to disappoint,” Tom wrote.  
Ginny laughed. “It’s all right. I’ll get used to it,” she said out loud, and also wrote.  
“What are you laughing about?” asked Henrietta Grimshaw, her roommate as she breezed in.  
“Reading something,” Ginny said quickly.  
“You laugh when you study?” Henrietta said skeptically.  
Ginny shrugged.  
Henrietta pulled her brush out of her bedside table and began to brush her glossy chestnut brown hair. She was a halfblood, the daughter of a Muggle banker and a witch. Ginny had heard the other girls calling her a “posh” and a “Sloaney”. She wasn’t sure what the last meant, but added up that it referred to Henrietta’s sophisticated and haughty attitude. It was different than the Purebloods whose families had turned their back on Ginny’s mother when she married a penniless eccentric. It wasn’t an old name, an accomplished wizard ancestor, or an estate in the Vale that Henrietta lorded over everyone else, it was an implication that she was cooler and busier than everyone else.  
“I…like your purse,” Ginny said. It seemed to be what a girl like Henrietta wanted to hear.  
She looked at Ginny as if she might laugh, then her expression smoothed out.  
“Thanks-its Mulberry,” Henrietta said.  
“Brilliant,” Ginny said.  
“Mum’s going to give me her Kelly for my birthday,” she drawled.  
Ginny nodded, her expression somewhere between, ‘That’s great’, and ‘very impressed.’  
“An Hermes, Grace Kelly handbag,” Henrietta clarified, seeing through her.  
“Right, of course,” Ginny said.  
“For a minute, I thought you knew something about fashion, Weasley,” Henrietta said.  
“Where would I learn that?” Ginny said.  
Henrietta laughed, but not unkindly-more like, as if Ginny had said something funny.  
“Fair enough. Dressing up around here means getting done up like you’re in a TV drama of “Pride and Prejudice’. What’s up with that?” Henrietta asked. “Don’t you lot ever want to wear anything short and sexy? Its all a bit Laura Ashley circa 1975 for me.”  
“I never had to wear anything like that,” Ginny said. “Mum lets me dress how I want.”  
“And you want to dress like a twelve year old migrant farm laborer, generally?” Henrietta said.  
“Do you want something, Grimshaw?” Ginny said.  
“Are you upset? I thought we were having a laugh,” Henrietta said.  
“A laugh?” Ginny said.  
“You, me, this-our banter. It’s rather something I count on,” Henrietta said.  
“I guess I’m not feeling myself,” Ginny said. She had to admit, after writing in the diary, she felt a little foggy, like she had been falling asleep and abruptly woken up.  
“Ah, could it be love?” Henrietta crooned saccharinely.  
“What?” Ginny said. How did she know about the diary?  
“Sources tell me,” Henrietta said, in an imitation of a gossip reporter, “that you’re dating Harry Potter.”  
“Tell sources to bite me,” Ginny said.  
“Ha! I knew it. I knew he fancied Granger,” Henrietta said.  
“What? No,” Ginny said.  
“No?” Henrietta said. “Hmm. Shame. They’d be quite all right together. They get on so well.”  
Henrietta began reading Muggle magazines her parents sent in care packages, and quite lost interest in Ginny.  
Ginny pondered that Henrietta, and presumably others, thought Hermione and Harry would be a good couple. Henrietta had been quick to accept Ginny’s denial that she was dating Harry, as if she couldn’t see it happening, anyway. That, and her ribbing about Ginny’s clothes made her feel frustrated with herself.  
“I want to be alone with you,” she found written in the diary, in Tom’s elegant script.  
She felt shivers along her spine, and warmth in her face. Tom wanted to meet her, face to face! She would find out who her soulmate was, see him, touch him…At least one person at Hogwarts found her desirable and took her seriously. 

“Alchemy is far more theoretical than I expected. I thought it would be like Potioncraft…with chemicals,” Pandora said.  
Snape gave her a bemused expression. She was beginning to know his expressions, his moods. A funny thing happened when you spent enough time alone with someone, just the two of you. Pandora found that she felt comfortable in his presence even though she knew about what he had done to her, and her aunt. She couldn’t find a reasonable explanation for his behavior in either case, but it was as if her body were postponing the full force of the fear, dread, and anger she knew that she felt. Her body was rationing the feeling, like a strong sedative to a patient in agony who would overwhelm themselves with a full dosage.  
“And so it will be, when you’ve fully grasped the theoretical portion. You sound like your father and I, when we were young. Pouring over any book or scroll we could get our hands on, talking late into the night about this or that theory, pining for access to a laboratory to try out what we thought we knew,” Snape said.  
“I’ve heard,” Pandora said, but didn’t mention the source, Hagrid, “that my parents met here, at Hogwarts.”  
“Yes,” Snape said. “your mother, as you know, was a Ravenclaw. She was a prodigy.”  
“Did Dumbledore think so, as well?” Pandora said, prodding him.  
Snape looked at her as if suspecting something, but said, “In those days, Dumbledore still taught a class on the subject of alchemy, for those interested in pursuing the subject further under the tutelage of the alchemists’ society. Ada was, undoubtedly, someone he was much invested in. Tell me, Miss Black, what the aim of alchemy is?”  
“Perfection. To perfect all the separate elements of the universe by bringing them together,” Pandora said.  
“Eloquently put, but wrong, unfortunately,” Snape said. “Some schools of alchemy theorize that if the universe were ever to be perfected, it would cease.”  
“Ah, would that be from the Kabbalah?” Pandora said.  
“Indeed,” Snape said.  
“It was in my mother’s notes, from which I have gleaned as much as from The Thrice Great Hermes’s own writings,” Pandora said.  
Snape actually smiled, albeit faintly.  
“After the Emerald Tablet, we shall continue with the Alexandrians,” Snape said.  
“Then you believe the Smaragdina to be Alexandrian? The possibility exists that it predates even the Alexandrian Library,” Pandora said.  
“You are quite eager-I almost loathe to implore you to slow down, somewhat. Many have begun this science gluttonously procuring new facts and forming hypotheses, only to become fatally exhausted,” Snape said.  
“I will proceed with prudence, Professor, and I do thank you for your advice,” Pandora said.  
“Miss Black…I do hope that I haven’t, in any way, made you uncomfortable,” he said.  
“I suspect that I have you,” Pandora said.  
“I suspect that was your intention,” Snape said.  
“Why did you drug me?” Pandora said. “with a drug that produced such effects as that one?”  
“What sort of effects, Miss Black?” Snape said.  
"I merely gave you a sleeping draught. Medicine involves an element of risk. Everyone’s physiology is unique, and interactions are unpredictable. As for my treatment of your aunt, were I at liberty to disclose to you your aunt’s medial history as I have been privy to it, you would see that she is not a well woman, nor has she ever been. Such medicines as I employ in her case are the most effective for her,” Snape said.  
“Yes…of course,” she said.  
She didn’t believe him.  
The postponed fear fluttered in her heart.  
“I see you still have doubts,” Snape said.  
“I have no doubts. I know what happened. You were trying to…seduce me,” Pandora said. "You kissed me! I remember!"  
“Prove it,” Snape said silkenly.  
Pandora was expecting another denial. This unbalanced her, and Snape saw it in her eyes.  
If she were her aunt, she would find some cutting way to accuse him of overreaching, trying to seduce a young woman of a good name, with a fortune, for his own ambitions to join the elite of the Vale. She could see in his eyes that he longed to have a manor with centuries of magical relics stored away or on display, proofs of wealth and lineage but also powerful objects. But, she didn’t have her aunt’s experience or instincts. Pandora knew herself to be only a girl, and she felt it as a constraint.  
“Only what can be proven is worth being said aloud, Miss Black,” Snape said. “The patron deity of alchemy, Mercury, is often illustrated to remind the alchemist that the great work sounds ridiculous when expounded on, and best suits silence.”  
He was so calm, he made her feel ridiculous. Snape was a Professor, a physician, and he may have been a Halfblood but her uncle was not the only rich man in Slytherin coven he’d made himself indispensable to. She’d told her only ally, her aunt, what he did, and she either didn’t remember or didn’t want to believe it. And, she was not blameless-she had walked with an unacceptable boy, and there were witnesses to that.  
On this matter, silence would reign. Pandora had lost to silence. She just hoped there was something in her uncle’s letters that would explain all of this. She wanted to scream.

“How does a Glamour differ from a Transformation?” asked Professor McGonagall. She gave them all a stern look that said, ‘figure it out, quick.’  
Hermione’s hand shot up, and the Professor called on her.  
“A Transformation occurs when an object is magically altered in shape, appearance, or function. A Glamour merely conceals something’s nature with another appearance,” Hermione said.  
“Thank you, Miss Granger,” the Professor said. “What are some ways to disguise something’s appearance?”  
“Invisibility,” Hermione said.  
“Yes, that is one,” McGonagall nodded.  
Harry was following along, then he heard a scream in his head. He saw a quickly moving panorama of images-he was lying in bed, feeling drowsy and trying to fight it, and Snape was touching his hair. Harry felt fear, shame, and wanted to cover his body but his hands felt heavy because of the profound drowsiness. The inability to move or get away made him want to cry. Then he felt the kind of white hot rage that propelled him as he threw hexes in a scrape with the Slytherins, but he wasn’t dueling. It was just him and Snape, and Harry was holding a wand with a pointed flame at the end to Snape’s throat.  
“Potter!” McGonagall cried, as Harry’s chair tipped over. The class broke out into laughter.  
“Quiet. That is quite enough!” McGonagall scolded them, and he was vaguely aware that Hermione and Professor McGonagall were helping him to his feet.  
“Miss Granger, help Potter to the hospital wing, please,” she said.  
“Lean on me, Harry,” Hermione said, when they got out into the corridor.  
“I’m fine, now. I was just seeing a bunch of strange things,” he said.  
“From the tournament?” she asked.  
“What? No…nothing like that. I think these were Dora’s memories. Of Snape,” Harry said.  
“Professor Snape?” Hermione said, surprised.  
“They were disturbing. One of them is of him touching her while she was drugged,” Harry said.  
Hermione’s brows furrowed in concern. With her voice lowered, Hermione asked,  
“Do you mean, touched in an inappropriate manner?”  
“Well, just my…I mean her, hair, but…it was his eyes, Hermione. I could tell he was…that for him, it was sexual. It was scary. I just wanted to run away, and hide, but my hands…its like I was drugged, I couldn’t lift them,” Harry said.  
Hermione said, “Harry, take a deep breath, and release it slowly.” Harry did so, and after the pause she continued, “First, separate your memories from Pandora’s. These are her experiences, Harry, you’re only seeing them because perhaps she’s thinking of them. The emotions feel like your’s.”  
Harry accepted this, and breathed.  
“And what’s more…memory is subjective. Its like that game, Telephone-everyone hears something different by the end, and the last person to say out loud what they heard gets the most garbled version,” Hermione said.  
“What are you saying, Hermione?” Harry said.  
“Harry, I’m saying, memories are a record of impressions. You don’t know what really happened,” Hermione said.  
“Hermione! I saw it! He was looking at her as if…” Harry said.  
“I can imagine, Harry. Perhaps this has escaped your notice, but I am a woman. For centuries, women have been treated as property or amusement, and the first thing many men judge a woman on is her looks, and how much they desire them-and they’re not shy about it. I don’t doubt something could have occurred, but you need facts before you accept this as fact,” Hermione said.  
“Should I ask her?” Harry said.  
“When do you plan to see her again?” Hermione asked.  
“The Buttershaws are having a ball, and Maurice invited us when we were down at the menagerie,” Harry said.  
“Oh, Maurice! His work with centaurs is groundbreaking,” Hermione said.  
“Well, turns out Dora’s cousin is married to him,” Harry said. “He recognized her, but I think he’s going to keep it quiet.”  
“It seems he knew that inviting you both would provide you both an opportunity to see each other,” Hermione said.  
“He said Lucius Malfoy didn’t approve of him marrying his daughter, so I suppose he’s been in my shoes,” Harry said.  
“Quite,” Hermione said. “Well, you can’t go alone. You’re lucky I brought a formal to school, just in case.”  
“You think of everything,” Harry said. “But if we go together, what will Ron think?”  
“Harry! Again! Why do you persist in thinking that Ron is attracted to me when the one he fancies is clearly…” Hermione fumed, then stopped herself.  
“Is clearly who?” Harry said. “Look, why don’t I ask Ginny?”  
“You are the least observant person I know. Harry, you’re very good with things you can get your hands around. But, emotions are like water….When the sun shines and the sky is blue, water looks blue. But that’s just a Glamour, you could say, like the ones that we’re learning about in Transfiguration. People are like that, Harry-they may appear to feel one way, but that is only what we see,” Hermione said.  
“Ginny isn’t like that. What you see is usually what you get,” Harry said.  
“Harry…you couldn’t be more wrong. Ginny isn’t used to having anyone to confide in, so she keeps everything inside,” Hermione said. “well…this is a lot to sort out. Don’t mention anything you saw to Pandora. Don’t spoil what time you have together, tonight. As for me and Ron-there is no me and Ron! And don’t you dare ask Ginny to that ball. Did I leave anything out?”  
“Not that I can think of, Hermione?” Harry said. “I don’t think I need the hospital wing, really.”

Ginny went alone, as Tom had asked, to the reflective garden. Since it was early spring, it was still a barren, wintery place. When in bloom, students used it more for snogging than reflection. Ginny had never been with a boy, here. No one had ever asked her. When Harry talked about Pandora, he seemed so alive, so sure. She searched for that feeling in her belly, the knowledge that this was right, and destined. She just felt the cold, wet air on her arms, cutting beneath her sweater.  
“Poor thing-have I kept you waiting very long?” drawled the sophisticated voice she heard in her dreams.  
Excitement raced up Ginny’s back-it was Tom! She turned around. He was tall for his age, with a face saved from being described as ‘pretty’ by his strong jaw. His beauty was distinctly masculine, but softened by the lean frame and angelic face of youth, the build and face of a prince in a storybook, the kind that goes on a long quest and wins a princess. His hair was dark and full, and fell immaculately. Harry paled next to him. He was her brother’s best friend, the boy she was around the most, knew well, and she had longed for him to think she was special and trust her with confessions of his feelings and the private pain everyone could tell he walked with: being an orphan, Voldemort’s quest to kill him, etc. But, she saw now the difference between that and the way her body responded to Tom. He was beautiful, and seeing him caused a chemical reaction in her body, a pliant feeling of surrender she had never known before.  
“Not very long,” she managed to say, although she wanted to turn away from the sight of him, lest his beauty burn.  
“All the same, I can’t stand to see you shiver,” he said, and put his wool sailor’s coat, which they all wore at school, around her shoulders.  
She looked up into his dark eyes, and said, “Thank you.”  
Some part of her brain registered that she had never seen him around before, didn’t know what year he was in, and there was an unusual luster to his skin. When he touched her hair, she wasn’t surprised when his hands were cold, cold like the snow. She told herself she could get used to it. When he kissed her, his lips felt like wind laden with snow. She kissed him back, determined to warm him with her kiss in return. If he was ice, she would be fire-Ginny could accept this. He saw her, he loved her, she felt she could not reject him.  
“Lovely Ginevra,” he said. “Thank you for inviting me into your heart. Its purity warms me…but the anger and sadness that burdens your heart feeds me. Do you desire me?”  
Ginny was shivering, but these frissons were both hot and cold. It was like a fever, and came in waves, waves that chilled her and overwhelmed her with heat.  
“You must say yes. Say the words, and you’ll belong to me,” Tom said.  
“I don’t want to be alone, ever again,” Ginny said.  
“Say yes,” Tom said.  
“Yes,” she said, and he kissed her. Ginny reached for his shoulders, but felt only the air. He was gone.  
“No, lovely Ginevra…I’m apart of you, now,” Tom said, inside her head.


	12. Chapter 12

“Prove it.”  
Snape’s words kept reappearing in Dora’s mind, like a weed that persistently resprouted in a garden. How could she prove his desire for her, and get someone to take it seriously as inappropriate? She longed for a private moment to read her Uncle’s letters, so that she could better understand what predicament, if any, her family was in.  
She knew the rhythm of Snape’s teaching style, by now, after weeks of private lessons with him in the Vale. When he directed questions at her, he expected a concise and brilliant answer, to be impressed. Otherwise, he wanted her undivided attention whilst he lectured. As he explained to her the different theoretical schools of Alchemy-Gnostic, Platonic, and Hermetic-she gave him her full attention, daring not even to take notes.  
“The sentiment you expressed earlier, on the aim of alchemy being that of perfection, would be line with the Gnostic idea that the universe was created with divisions which the alchemist resolves through the working of metals. That each stage, indeed, represents, one would say, an incarnation,” Snape said.  
“And man, too, is being perfected, being a small universe, himself: the Microcosm,” Pandora said.  
“Quite,” Snape said. “Do you lean towards the Gnostic?”  
“I think it is too early in my career to have any preferences,” Pandora said.  
“Your mother found them pessimistic. She said that hope was essential to her work,” Snape said.  
“So…she was a Platonic? The Platonics believe that the universe is a work of art,” Pandora said.  
“Ada was…stubbornly individualistic. She studied many, many schools of thought, looking for components and principles she could adapt to her practice,” Snape said. “You are wise not to choose one school to subscribe to-your parents believed strongly that blind devotion to one theory would lead to intellectual calcification.”  
“Like coven loyalty,” Pandora said. “As far as I can see, being blindly loyal to one’s coven only leads to division and conflict.”  
“Many agreed, and that is why they followed Riddle. He wanted to liberate magic from overregulation, and anyone who believed in that cause and wanted knowledge was encouraged to pursue their curiosities, wherever it led them,” Snape said.  
“Why did so many people need to be told they could think for themselves?” Pandora said. “are we not always free to do that?”  
“No,” Snape said. “not always, Miss Black.”  
His tone was earnest, and forlorn.  
“Thoughts are always free,” Pandora said.  
“I enjoy our lessons, Miss Black. I enjoy the way you challenge me. The intimacy of teaching a student this way requires…slight adjustments to my method, and your answers to my questions always reveal that you possess a soul of great depth,” Snape said.  
‘Prove it, prove it, how can I prove it?’ she thought, as he attempted to mollify her with praise.  
He reached for her hand again, but for some reason Pandora didn’t pull away. She hoped that Narcissa would burst in. Or maybe a Hogwarts professor, a colleague of Snape’s. Even Lucy-surely if her outspoken, rambunctious cousin told Narcissa or, when they returned home, Lucius, what she saw, a child would be believed.  
Snape was in awe that she had let him touch her. He tentatively stroked her hand with his palm, and looked into her eyes,  
“Pandora…if you were ever in need of aid, of some kind, surely you would turn to me? That is why you asked me to serve your family as Merlin, isn’t it? You know I would be of assistance to you, in any way that I am able?”  
She’d play this one to the end, she decided.  
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry I…got so angry with you, and held my wand to you,” Pandora said.  
Snape, to her surprise, laughed softly, bemusedly.  
“You have a lineage to be proud of. I am no one. But, when the stars are in our reach, we must try, mustn’t we?” Snape said.  
She thought of something she had read in her mother’s notes.  
“Which alchemist was it, that said, ‘If I cannot pull down heaven, I shall raise Hell’?” she asked.  
“No alchemist at all, but a Muggle poet,” Snape said. “As the alchemist pursues his Great Work, many dark forces will arise as impediments, and even interfere with his vision and desire. Perhaps that is what is meant by turning to Hell when Heaven is out of reach.”  
“How do we guard ourselves from the forces that impede us?” Pandora said.  
“Some alchemists believe it is two forces which move the world: love and conflict,” Snape said. “I suppose protection lies in choosing.”  
“Choosing love, rather?” Pandora said.  
“Precisely,” Snape said. “Pandora…I will protect you.”  
“Protect me from what, Professor?” he asked.  
“Since I feel that you understand what I am saying to you, and the weight of it, wouldn’t it be more becoming for you to call me by my name, Pandora, as I am you?” Snape said.  
“Severus…” she said, and thought of Harry saying that he loved how she said his first name. Snape craved this intimacy. Now that Pandora knew it in earnest, she felt sickened by feigning it. But, if she persisted, she could get Snape to tell her why her family was being discouraged from the Manor. She was determined to find out.  
“Severus,” she said, “please, tell me, what is it that you think I need protecting from?”  
“You know your uncle’s past, Pandora. And the past has an uncanny way of repeating itself,” Snape said.  
“What has repeated itself?” she asked.  
“Your uncle has asked me to detain you, your aunt, and cousin not just for this weekend, but indefinitely,” Snape confided. “whilst the Manor is made available for such use as Lord Voldemort desires.”  
“Magister Riddle? He’s being housed in our home? Severus…if the Guild finds out, Uncle will be….” Pandora stopped.  
She couldn’t even imagine so severe a punishment as housing the mass-murdering fugitive dictator would demand. What would become of her family?  
“Don’t be frightened. Its not your nature,” Snape said.  
“You think I’m afraid for myself? Aunt and Lucy…” Pandora said.  
“Of course. You have a tender heart. Pandora, your father was the noblest man I ever met. Your mother, a brilliant, and kind woman. They were the dearest friends I ever had, and you, their child…surpass them both in noble qualities. Teaching you was, initially, a great joy to me as their friend and as a professional…but it became far more than that, quite quickly. Do you remember that night in the Astronomy Tower?” Snape said.  
When he first began to frighten her, with his attentions. His eyes now shone with ardor. He had cast himself as the lover in this story, and had no idea how he had harassed and terrified her. He couldn’t truly believe that this was love?  
She allowed herself to merely nod. She needed him to continue to unburden himself, so she could learn more about her Uncle’s plight. She feared for him, being effectively held hostage in his own home. Her uncle was foppish and a terrible snob, but had never been anything but affectionate with her. When she was a small girl, he carried her in his arms, she sat on his lap, and he called her ‘Crumpet’ as a pet name, just like his own daughters Anthea and Lucilla. She now regretted that she had told him to stop calling her Crumpet when she was 13.  
“Marry me, and I can protect you,” Snape said.  
“From…Magister Riddle?” Pandora said. “But, I’m betrothed to Draco…I have been since I was a baby….”  
“Are we not, as you said, always free to think for ourselves?” Snape said, turning her own words into a desperate plea.  
“Speak plainly,” she said. She was losing patience with this approach.  
He still held her hand, but composed his desperate, feverish need to express and receive affection from her, noticeably. He seemed to like when she was imperious, reasserting that he was ‘no one’ , and she was the heiress of a legendary Wizarding family.  
“You cannot marry Draco because he is penniless. Your Uncle has squandered the Malfoy family fortune in bad investments, and elaborate amusements for his mistress, an actress in Londinium. Lord Voldemort knows he is a broken man and has no choice but to serve him loyally for future glory and immediate resources. He belongs to him totally. Your inheritance, however, all that is left of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, remains, will be safe and abundantly adequate to support yourself, Narcissa, and Lucilla, if you marry as soon as possible, and you, your husband, and family, take everything and abscond,” Snape said.  
“Madam Springhaven was right about you!” Pandora cried, flinching her hand from Snape’s grasp. “she said you were a fortune hunter! I don’t believe anything you say.” She got up from her chair, and he got out of his.  
He put his hands on her shoulders.  
“I know who you are. You are not vain, but you have been raised gently, and you have an excess of pride. You have a fire inside you, Pandora, which makes even your follies pure. This is hard to swallow, I know,” Snape said. He could not resist caressing her shoulders. “But you must not let yourself become useless with hysterics.”  
“If I marry you, what becomes of Draco?” Pandora said. “Do you care nothing for his fate, if he truly has nothing now?”  
“I care more for your fate. Pandora, I love you. And I will vigilantly guard your happiness, your safety, your fortune, and your family, as you administer your wishes to me. I am, in all matters, your servant, if you will have me,” Snape said. “we will be safe, and our work will continue. Leaving Britain will set us free to pursue your education in its fullest expression, to speak with alchemy’s living masters in their native surroundings, learn their secrets in their very lands of origin. We will never stop, the Dark Lord will never find us.”  
Pandora was horrified-only, she understood, Riddle’s closest servants referred to him as the Dark Lord. Was Snape trying to entrap her? Who was he truly loyal to?  
“I know you admire Dumbledore. He will happily give us his assistance,” Snape said.  
The Muggle expression ‘everything but the kitchen sink’ recommended itself. He seemed desperate to get through to her.  
A knock came at the office door. Snape strode over to the door, and opened it. It was Draco, looking debonair in black velvet dress robes and a black velvet Carnavale mask.  
“Pandora, dear-you must get ready. We are leaving for Buttershaw Hall,” Draco said. He looked from Dora, to Snape, and immediately ascertained that something was wrong.  
“Cousin?” he asked.  
“Yes, Cousin, I’m coming. Sorry to have kept everyone waiting,” Pandora said.  
Pandora left the office. Narcissa was ready for the ball, wearing resplendent white satin, with pearls in her hair. Lucy also wore white.  
“Pandora, dear, are you quite well?” Narcissa said.  
“Yes, Aunt,” she said. Her guilt felt like a stone in her belly, she felt it in her uncle’s place as she looked at her aunt.  
“If you say so, dear. Close your eyes, now,” Narcissa said.  
When Pandora opened her eyes, she was wearing a white gown, white gloves, and her red shawl, her hair gathered up, and she was wearing a crown of apple blossoms, to suggest a spring that hadn’t quite arrived, yet, at least not in the craggy Scottish mountains.  
“Come along, Cousin-you and I will ride in one carriage, Lucy and Mother in another,” Draco said, and placed a guiding hand on the small of her back. 

Draco helped Pandora into the carriage, and she adjusted her simple, elegant, but thin silk dress on the wine colored velvet seats. He followed after her, and shut the door. There was a lurch, and the Pegasi which pulled it, and the carriage itself, lifted off into the air, towards the Buttershaw estate. They were an old, respectable, but forgettable Hufflepuff family, and Lucius had been more underwhelmed than outraged by Anthea’s choice of Maurice. When Pandora looked out of the velvet curtains at the windows, she saw a star-spangled sky, already a rich indigo color.  
“What’s going on? What, in general, is going on between you and Snape, Cousin?” Draco said.  
“Cousin, we are in danger!” Pandora said.  
She explained all that Snape had told her, about her uncle’s predicament, and his proposal of marriage.  
“Now I see why he has been behaving this way, for all this time-expressing interest in me…” Pandora said.  
“And, you are absolutely certain that you don’t return it? Women do play coy for the sake of suspense sometimes, don’t they?” Draco said.  
“Draco!” Pandora said, outraged.  
“I had to be sure,” Draco said.  
“You seem remarkably calm, for someone who’s just found out that they are a pauper,” Pandora said.  
“I never thought he would let things get this far. Of course, I knew he had a mistress-that blousy actress, who does artistic expression performances,” Draco said.  
Pandora vaguely knew who he referred to, she’d read of a young actress in Londinium famed for striking ‘attitudes’, expressions that suggested various artistic figures, and her audiences delighted in her transformations-Pandora thought the source of their delight was probably that so many of these ‘attitudes’ required that she was in the nude. That, she marveled, was her uncle’s mistress?  
“I knew he was hand in glove with Riddle, and was running out of friends in the Guild…but, now he owns us, if what Snape is saying is true!” Draco said. “I need a glass of water…this news is making me faint.”  
“Don’t be hysterical, you’ll get a headache,” Pandora said. “Maybe we can find out if Snape is telling the truth.”  
She took the letters out of her reticule. She and Draco read them together, and were thunderstruck to see that they seemed to confirm what Snape had said: Lucius was broke, in thrall to Voldemort, needed Narcissa to be detained, and permitted Snape to marry Pandora to protect Narcissa, Lucy, and Dora, as well as Dora’s fortune.  
Draco burst into laughter.  
“Stop that! This is serious!” Pandora said.  
“Its uproarious! To think, I thought my biggest problem was that I dress in ladies’ clothes at Molly Houses in Londinium, and Father finding out! This is far worse. Pandora, we are paupers or Dark Wizards, one way we turn, you are married to Snape, the other way we turn,” Draco said.  
“What if we went to the Faer Country? We could take an airship, and live in some comfort in the Summer Country, the land of the Summer Faeries. There are many Wizard expatriates, there, educated, artistic, enlightened people-and the weather will improve your health, Cousin,” Pandora said.  
Draco chewed his lip.  
“Mother already craves their drugs…we hardly need to take her to the source,” Draco said.  
“I will never leave her side, I will prevent her from getting her hands on anything like that,” Pandora said.  
“Tall order, Cousin,” Draco said. “We’ll think of something, but for now, try to act natural, and say nothing to Maurice and Anthea.”  
“Maybe Maurice can help! He’s in the Guild!” Pandora said.  
“All right, then I’ll bring it up to him-but you just act like a little girl with flowers in her hair, who knows nothing,” Draco said. “That’s how you’ll keep clean in all this.”  
Pandora knew that she was right. She and Draco fell silent. In her head, she went over the words and illustrations of the Emerald Tablet, thinking of alchemy to distract herself.

“Oh, Granger, I didn’t know you’d been invited anywhere!” said Henrietta Grimshaw, as she got settled in one of the flying carriages taking Hogwarts students who’d be celebrating in the village to Hogsmeade and beyond.  
Henrietta sat beside her date, Ernie MacMillan. In reply to her remark, Hermione merely gave her a wary smirk.  
Ernie and Harry struck up a conversation about Quidditch, and Henrietta bored Hermione silly with a detailed account of a ski holiday she’d taken to the United States. Hermione looked fatigued by the time the carriage put Ernie and Henrietta off at a public ball in the village, and continued on towards the countryside beyond Hogsmeade. The carriage touched the ground again as the Pegasus pulled the carriage into the Buttershaws’ drive. It ended at an impressive, but modest brick Georgian manor.  
Maurice, and a tall, rosy, pleasant looking blonde woman in an elaborate satin rose colored gown, whom Harry assumed was the former Anthea Malfoy, Maurice’s wife, were welcoming their guests. The guests poured into Buttershaw Hall, wearing masks, wings, horns, all to look like the Faeries they believed visited their people on this day, and bestowed Faerie land for wizards to live in safety and secrecy.  
“Harry! Glad you could make it, old boy. And Ms. Granger-your reputation precedes you,” Maurice said.  
“Does it?” she said, surprised.  
“The Guild always keeps an ear out for talent,” Maurice said warmly.  
“Harry, do come with me,” Anthea said. She had the same refined voice as Pandora.  
He followed Anthea’s long, blonde hair, and the wide, floor-sweeping dusky pink skirt of her ballgown.  
He passed costumed people in the halls, and heard the airy waltzes being played from the ballroom.  
“Pandora has been like a sister to me,” Anthea said. “We were raised together. And, my mother impressed upon me time and again how much Pandora needed our love. I am quite devoted to her. I fancied myself her little mother, as other girls do their dolls. I had my baby cousin, instead!” Anthea laughed at her own child self, and Harry smiled.  
“I’m glad Pandora had you,” Harry said.  
“And now, she has you, it seems. She has told me about the red string of fate,” Anthea said. “It is an old, mysterious magic. The earliest accounts of it are in China, in legends. It cannot be undone, or ignored, and means that you are bound to each other.”  
“Good. I don’t want to undo it. I feel complete, now,” Harry said.  
Anthea gave Harry a lovely smile, reached for his hand, and squeezed in encouragingly.  
“She is waiting for you, Mr. Potter,” Anthea said.  
She opened the door, to reveal a white-walled, octagonal drawing room. The light of lamp in holders on the wall gave the ecru walls a faintly orange, radiant glow, and the furniture was upholstered with stiff emerald green silk. The curtains were emerald velvet.  
Pandora rose from an emerald couch, wearing a white silk dress, white gloves, her curly brown hair tumbling over her shoulders and bosom, and a crown of white apple blossoms on her head. Apple blossoms, like the orchard in their dream….she’d remembered.  
“Harry,” she said.  
Harry hated his dark, green velvet dress robes: if he didn’t have to think about tripping over them, he’d run to her. He quickly walked over to Pandora, and gathered her in his arms.  
“You’re really here,” Pandora said.  
“Of course. You’re beautiful, tonight, Pandora,” he murmured, as they sat on the sofa together.  
Dora sat facing him, and Harry held both her gloved hands. They were too stunned to talk, and touched each other’s faces in loving awe.  
“Shall I leave you two alone?” Anthea said.  
“Better go save Hermione-I think Maurice is recruiting her for a summer internship at the Guild,” Harry said.  
“Or consulting her opinion on a bill. She seems sensible, so perhaps that isn’t so bad. But, I do have to play hostess in the ballroom, make sure the appetizers are served: the heavy lifting around here,” Anthea said breezily. “I’ll see you later on, Cousin.”  
Anthea left the room.  
“Your friend, Hermione is here?” Pandora said. “I do look forward to meeting her!”  
“You will, trust me. I can’t wait to see you two together, you’ll love each other. And my other best friend, Ron, we’ll meet him and his sister, Ginny, in the village, if you want to leave here…I didn’t know if you’d want to stay here, or go to the Goblin Market, and then there’s Remus’s pub, the Pendragon, we could have some quiet there….Am I rambling?” Harry said.  
“I suspect you are. I believe that’s the term for it,” Pandora laughed, and Harry laughed, too.  
“Wherever we go,” she said, “I shall be glad to be with you.”  
“Likewise,” Harry said, and they kissed.  
“I want to know more about you,” Pandora said.  
Harry sighed. “There’s not much to know. I like Quidditch, hard cider, playing guitar, motorbikes, the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, the Beat poets…but, I think you meant something else.”  
“Yes. Not just what you like-what has made you,” Pandora said.  
“You know what happened to my parents, I’m sure. They were Gryffindors, loyal to the Guild, and Riddle murdered them. I was placed in a Muggle orphanage, and I was there until I was 12. Until I stole Remus’s wallet. That’s what I did, then, what we all did. The people who ran the orphanage made us. This one day, I grabbed Remus’s wallet, out of his back pocket, and it started leading me around London! It dragged me through a brick wall, down an alley way, to Between Scylla and Charybis,” Harry said.  
“Between Scylla and Charybdis?” Pandora said. “What is that?”  
“It’s a bookshop Remus and Sirius own in Londinium. They’ve got a pub here, in the village, and a few other places. They always say having passive income gives them more free time,” Harry said.  
“So, you were found by your guardians, then,” Pandora said. “after you stole from one of them! How uncanny!”  
“Well, I was so used to basically looking after myself, Remus and Sirius had a hard time convincing me to let them help me, to leave the orphanage and come live with them. I didn’t want to trust the wrong person, and be worse off than I was before. But, they’d been looking for me. They were my parents’ friends, and had always wanted to look after me, but because my mum and dad were hiding out as Muggles, I got rather lost in the shuffle. All’s well that ends well,” Harry said.  
“That’s amazing, Harry,” Pandora said.  
“How about you? What’s made you, Pandora Alcyone Black?” Harry said.  
“Well, I’m learning more about my parents, who they really were. They were alchemists, this much I know. They worked very hard during the dragon pox epidemic, to use alchemy to come up with new treatments, and…I want to be as noble as they were. I want to use alchemy to help people. Its so full of theories about the origins of the universe and all that, which is fascinating, but I want to be in a laboratory, mixing things up, and making cures,” Pandora said.  
“That’s amazing,” Harry said. “I’m sure you will.”  
He’d meant to encourage her, but Pandora looked away, and looked troubled.  
“I don’t know,” she said.  
“Pandora…what’s wrong? You can tell me. Is this about Snape?” Harry asked.  
“Snape?” she said.  
“Damn. Hermione told me not to say anything. Did he threaten you?” Harry asked.  
If Pandora wanted to tell him, he would be there for her, but he wouldn’t force her to tell him.  
“Its so much more complicated than that,” Pandora said. “But a lot has changed in my family, recently.”  
Harry kissed her forehead, her cheek, her hair.  
“What can I do, to make you happy, tonight?” Harry asked.  
“Let’s go outside, and look at the stars,” Pandora said. 

Pandora and Harry went to the garden, where Anthea’s earth magic had coaxed a few early daffodils to bloom. She had always loved those cheerful flowers, the first blooms of spring, which sometimes poked through the season’s last snow like breaking dawn. Dora was warm enough in her big, red cashmere shawl, and Harry had his velvet dress robes, which were simple, but tasteful. And, they kept each other warm as they embraced, and kissed deeply. She needed to lose herself in Harry’s warmth, his arms around her, his lips, and the way her mind cleared when they kissed, and forget all the turmoil her family was in, for a moment.  
“Dora…” Harry moaned.  
His aroused state was obvious, with them holding each other so close. He sounded as if he needed her desperately, but not in the feverishly ambitious way that Snape did. The imploring breathlessness of Harry’s voice traveled through her like the reverberations of music. She moved against him, to show him that she was willing, that she was in a fever as he was. His hands roamed her body, clutching the silk of her gown and her warm, soft flesh, through it. Dora gasped.  
Dora took Harry’s hand, and led him to the greenhouse. The Buttershaws used it to grow orchids, which Elspeth Buttershaw had a weakness for. They grew year round in the moist heat of the glass building. As Pandora and Harry entered, they could smell the earthy, living smell of the green leaves and butterfly shaped flowers. The flowers surrounded them, in white and varying shades of violet. The music of the ball was behind them, the only noise was the water of a koi pond in the greenhouse, and the thrashing of the fish.  
Pandora spread her shawl out on the ground. The heat of the greenhouse was stoking misty sweat beneath her silk dress, she was no longer cold. Harry also took off his dress robes, revealing that underneath, he was wearing a tshirt and jeans. Pandora smiled.  
They sat on their discarded clothes.  
“If you were in trouble, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?” Harry said.  
“I’ve heard that before, tonight,” Pandora said.  
“From who?” Harry said.  
“You’re quite persistent,” Pandora said.  
“So,they tell me,” Harry said.  
Pandora sighed.  
“Harry…Snape asked me to marry him, tonight. So that he could protect me. My uncle has lost all his money, somehow, and Magister Riddle must have given him something, or promised him something….now, he owes him, and must do whatever he asks, and he is housing him! Hiding him, at Malfoy Manor! Our home! I don’t know what to do. If I don’t marry Snape, and allow him to control my fortune, my little cousin, Lucy, and my Aunt Cissy will have nothing to live on!” Pandora confessed. She couldn’t lie to him, it didn’t feel right in a way that her whole body resisted.  
“You can’t marry Snape. Pandora…I told Hermione I wouldn’t pressure you to tell me anything, and you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to…but today, I think I saw your memories. Snape…he’s tried things with you, hasn’t he?” Harry said.  
Dora nodded vehemently. “He wants a Pureblood bride, with a fortune, I was warned of that while still in the Vale. But, its more than that…he was a friend of my parents, and I think he admired them greatly…and he’s teaching me alchemy. He seems to have a lot of plans for me, as if we can be partners in alchemy as my parents were,” she said. “But…I don’t want him! He doesn’t love me purely.”  
“Pandora, don’t commit to anything yet, all right? Where’s Draco, in all this?” Harry said. “What does he make of it?”  
“He’s horrified. He’s speaking to Maurice, discussing our options. He’s about as interested in dark magic as he is in salamander breeding, which is to say he couldn’t care less,” Pandora said.  
“Good. Maurice is a good man, and a good friend of Sirius’s. Would you allow Sirius to help you? I’m sure he can sort out something for your aunt, she’s his cousin. And Dora, you’re his niece. All he has left of his brother,” Harry said. “Of course, he’ll help you.”  
“Oh, Harry…My aunt was just telling me how she never forgave him for breaking his betrothal to her sister, Bellatrix. She feels betrayed by him, too,” Pandora said. “I don’t know if she would accept a handkerchief from him.”  
“Any help will have to come from Maurice, then,” Harry said. “We’ll think of something, Dora. I promise.”  
He held her hand, and Dora looked into Harry’s eyes.  
“I trust you,” Pandora said.  
Harry kissed Pandora, once again, and he was ardent, but gentle. Harry was so warm against her, she could feel the warmth of his belly beneath his tshirt which read ‘The Beatles’. Pandora knew they were a Muggle musical act, but not very much else. Harry’s stomach was lean, and pressed into the softness of her own stomach, and pressed the silk of her gown into her sweat misted skin. Her legs parted, allowing them to lay like sky and ocean, chest and belly kissing, foreheads touching, sweat mingling, as their lips touched and they swallowed each other’s sighs.  
“Did you hear that?” Harry said.  
He stood up, his wand drawn. Dora remembered, with regret, Snape snapping her’s with his mind. Someone entered the greenhouse.  
“Lux,” Harry said, and light flared from the end of his wand, revealing a slight girl with long red hair, wearing a gold satin gown and a very unflattering shade of red lipstick. Dora recognized her: it was Ginny, Ron’s sister. They had never been close as girls, but she did know her.   
“Gin?” Harry said.  
“Yes,” she said, distractedly, then looked beside her, and up.  
Her eyes were unfocused, and Dora felt as if she were in the presence of an animal with an illness. It reminded her of the time she was playing croquet with Anthea and a dizzy gnome Digweed had just hit on the head with a shovel to get him out of his way. The creature had stumbled before them pitiably, looking lost and doomed.  
“Dora, this is Ginny Weasley-my best friend, Ron’s sister,” Harry said. “I thought you two were in the village? Me and Ron said we might meet up later, do a bit of a pub crawl, if Dora was interested.”  
“I’ve certainly never been invited to a pub crawl!” Dora said. “How do you do, Ginny?”  
“It’s Ginevra,” she said.  
She glanced up again, and her face wore an adoring smile. Harry and Pandora looked at each other, and realized the same thing at once-that Ginny was smiling at someone only she could see.  
“Tom prefers Ginevra,” she said.  
“Who’s Tom?” Harry asked.  
“He’s my soulmate. Go on-shake hands,” Ginny said.  
“Gin…there’s no one there,” Harry said.  
“I can see him. He’s reaching out his hand to you. Tom says, ‘Opposites need not be enemies. Phoenix and Dragon are an even match, why should they not be allies?’” Ginny says.  
“I don’t know what that means,” Harry said. “Gin….do you think there’s someone beside you?”  
“Tom says, a serpent is just a dragon by another name. Why fear the dragon when he is the creature of the human imagination? Men create their monsters, and strike with all their accumulated fear when they think they find them,” Ginny continued.  
“Ginny, who is this bloody Tom, and where are you getting all this?” Harry demanded.  
“He loves me. He wants to meet you, Harry. I want us all to be….happy,” Ginny said. “Come, meet Tom…and Pandora..you’ll get to come home.”  
“Riddle! It’s Tom Riddle. He’s at Malfoy Manor, it must be him. He’s gotten into Ginny’s head, somehow,” Harry deduced. He looked into Ginny’ eyes fiercely, as if staring into the contagion within her, and said,  
“Get out of Ginny, you coward! I’ll never join you!”  
“Join him, or die,” Ginny said. “You wouldn’t want to be left out in the cold, would you, Harry?”  
She held her wand at Harry, and said, “Glacies!”  
Ice sprayed from her wand. It covered the orchids and their leaves, and encased Harry’s body in a sheet of bearded of frost. He fell, and Dora picked up his wand.  
As Ginny Weasley continued to spray ice, Dora cried, “Ignis!”  
Fire erupted from her wand, and met Ginny’s ice. The magic poured through her, and Dora felt as if she was dissolving into the fire. This was the force inside Harry that called to her, which she craved, which she had needed all her life. Of course Tom Riddle wanted Harry-his magic was life giving fire, like a newborn sun in a newly formed galaxy.  
The fire stopped when Draco, Maurice, Anthea, and Elspeth rushed into the greenhouse. Anthea rushed to cover Pandora with her shawl. She beat at her hair, her shoulders, her clothes.  
“Cousin, what are you doing?” Dora demanded.  
“Your hair was on fire!” Anthea said.  
When Anthea removed the shawl, Dora saw a charred world of frost and ash. The orchids were ruined. Ginny Weasley had fainted, and Harry was still covered in frost. Maurice chanted an incantation over him, and the frost melted.  
“Cousin, what happened here?” Anthea said.  
Severed from the sun itself, Dora felt exhausted, and merely hugged Anthea, resting her head on her bosom.  
“Something terrible has happened here, that’s what. I shall have to call Dumbledore,” Maurice said.


	13. Chapter 13

“Sir?” Harry said, as he woke up. “Where am I?”   
He looked around, and saw that he was lying beneath a butter yellow comforter in a canopy bed.  
Dumbledore sat beside him, smiling placidly.   
“Buttershaw Hall,” he said. “How much do you recall, Harry?”  
“I went down to Hogsmeade for Founding Day, with Hermione. When we got to Buttershaw Hall, Anthea Buttershaw pulled me aside and led me off. She told me about growing up with Pandora, and then I met up with Dora. We talked. And then we….” Harry said. He blushed at the rest of the sentence.  
“I can imagine, Harry, and at your age, I would expect nothing less,” Dumbledore said serenely. “Now, I assume you and Miss Black were getting further acquainted in Elspeth’s splendid orchid house, when you heard Miss Weasley’s approach.”  
“Err…yeah. We were in the orchid house, I heard something, I got out my wand, and it was Ginny. I thought she was going to be at a public celebration in the village, with Ron, and we were all going to meet up later to go on a pub cr….” Harry stopped at ‘pub crawl’: Dumbledore was, after all, his Headmaster.  
“I believe the term is ‘pub crawl’, a youthful pastime I am sure would have been novel to Miss Black. But, Miss Weasley’s appearance at the Buttershaws’ private amusement came as a shock,” Dumbledore led.  
Harry nodded. “She seemed off. Really disoriented, and she said she wanted us to come meet Tom. She seemed to think he was there, with her, and when neither me, or Pandora, would play along that we could see him, she started relaying messages to us, from this Tom. Some of it was confused and ideological, about dragons and phoenixes,” he said.   
To Harry’s dismissive tone about this segment of events, Dumbledore said mildly, “If ideology is what most passionately motivates someone, we’d certainly be able to extract helpful insights from listening to them discuss it-to a certain degree. The ideological are often guilty of repeating themselves, or talking very loudly.”  
“She said, well, I guess Tom said, that serpents are only dragons by another name, and that dragons and phoenixes are evenly matched, and need not be enemies. I could figure out that part, at least-he wants me to join him. Why?” Harry said.  
“Riddle attaches great importance to omens. You were born under a fortuitous sign, the sign of the phoenix,” Dumbledore said.  
“I’ve never seen that one in the newspaper horoscopes,” Harry quipped.  
“Well, as you have seen, wizards follow quite a different calendar,” Dumbledore said.  
“So, he thinks he can use me, then?” Harry said. “After killing my parents? Kidnapping me, making me run that ridiculous trial? Killing Cedric in front of me?”  
“You see now the extent of megalomania. So pervasive and deeply entrenched is one’s confidence in one’s own charisma, and in the malleability of others, audacious hopes and deeds are, rather, the norm,” Dumbledore said.  
Harry chewed on that. “Never,” he said. “I’ll never have anything to do with dark magic.”  
“That is not the attitude to take. Harry, I once knew a boy, a promising student of mine, who was utterly devoted to using his abilities to heal the world in any way he could. He fell in love with a girl as brilliant as himself, with similarly noble aspirations, and together, they accomplished dazzling feats of magical medicine,” Dumbledore said. “When his wife fell ill, this young man was desperate for a cure, and exhausted every magic, White, and Gray, at his disposal. He turned to the Dark Arts he had once decried. We are all capable of falling, Harry.”  
“What are you saying? That you think I’ll turn, one day?” Harry said, shocked.  
“No, my boy,” Dumbledore said. “I am saying that I see a conflict within you, Harry. You bludgeon any traces of darkness within yourself as vehemently as you decry the darkness outside of yourself. However, none of us are wholly light, or wholly dark. We are the world in microcosm, home to different weather, and seasons, if you will. Accept your complexity, and you will know peace within.”  
“How do I do that, Professor?” Harry said.  
“Well, I’m afraid it will involve homework, Harry,” Dumbledore said bemusedly. “It is my wish that we begin to supplement your education with tactics I feel you will need considering Riddle’s fixation with you, and the threat that poses to you.”  
“Absolutely. Anything you think is best, Professor,” Harry said.  
“Very well,” Dumbledore. “For now, I think it is best that you get some sleep.”   
Dumbledore clicked off the lamp on the bedside table, and Harry lay on his side and attempted to sleep.  
He had just managed this feat, albeit shallowly, when he heard footsteps on the carpet. He grabbed his wand, and pointed it at the assailant.  
“Its me,” Pandora said. “Put that thing away.”  
“Sorry,” Harry said. Dora clicked on the light. She was wearing a long white nightgown, and her hair….her magnificent black curls had been shorn, they now closely framed her face in a capped halo, like a young Dionysus or Apollo sculpted by a Greek master.  
“What happened to your hair?” Harry said.  
“It was set on fire, when I put out Miss Weasley’s ice spell,” Pandora explained. “Anthea and Madam Buttershaw did their best to set it right, but I think it will take few days, yet.”  
She sat on the edge of Harry’s bed. He wanted her closer.  
“You saved my life,” Harry said.  
“I had no idea what I was doing,” Pandora said.  
“That’s all right,” Harry said. “Come here.”  
Dora crawled up into bed beside him, and Harry lovingly tucked the covers over her as she snuggled in.  
“He got too bloody close to me, tonight. To you. I have to make sure he never gets that close to you, Gin, or anybody else, again,” Harry said. “Dora, you can’t go back to Malfoy Manor.”  
“My Uncle is there,” Pandora said. “Harry, he’s been like a father to me. He’s been so generous with me, and treated me as a daughter. He loves me.”  
“You don’t know what that house is like, now, Dora. It’s a nest of Death Eaters,” Harry said.  
Harry looked into her eyes, and in their gray depths he could see that she was considering this. Harry had never thought of Death Eaters having families who worried about them, but as he put his arms around Dora he didn’t think of her as a Death Eater’s niece, a girl who’d grown up in a seat of dark magic, in a family connected to Riddle. She was warm, close, she was Pandora whom he had kissed to the music of Alkonosts, the girl who had acted quickly and saved his life with his own wand.  
“We can’t go back. I know that. I just don’t want you to think that my uncle is a bad person,” Pandora said.  
“What I think, is I’m glad that you had the Malfoys. You weren’t in an orphanage,” Harry said.  
“It was horrible, wasn’t it?” Pandora said.  
“At the time, I thought it was normal-to be hungry, to not expect anything good, to have no one. I didn’t know anything else,” Harry said.  
“Thank the gods that my uncle Sirius found you,” Pandora said.  
Harry smiled. “See? It all turned out all right.”  
“Do you think this will, too?” Dora said.  
“I do. Voldemort fell once, he will again,” Harry said.  
“I’ve tried to ignore it all. My Aunt always says women must maintain the standards of a household no matter what business men are caught up in. So, I just ignored my uncle and his friends, and boys at balls, the way they talked about clearing the Muggles out so Wizards could come out of secrecy, of how our world was overrun with halfbreeds and creatures…” Pandora said.  
“Were you frightened?” Harry said.

“Of course! But, I couldn’t allow myself to be,” Pandora said. “Women…must be stronger than men. That’s how I was raised to think.”  
Harry laughed.  
“Oh, you think that’s funny, do you?” Pandora said.  
“Not at all! Let’s say, anyone can be strong who puts their mind to it,” Harry said.  
“You compromise beautifully,” Pandora said.  
“Thanks,” Harry said. “Dora…what do you mean, about clearing out Muggles?”  
“It’s just something I heard. They want our kind to stretch out across the earth, and to reduce Muggles in number and enslave the rest, so that we have no need to live in secret the way we do,” Pandora said. “They say we only hide from them because they used to burn us, imprison us, torture us, and we need to take the earth back.”  
“How do they plan to accomplish that?” Harry asked.  
“I don’t know! I told you, it’s a woman’s duty to keep things moving. To make a breezy, witty remark, to soothe a man’s temper, to strike up the dancing, to get the next course of dinner out, to keep the children happy, to look beautiful so that your husband doesn’t lose face,” Pandora said. “I turned my mind to such matters when things got difficult, because it was what I was taught to do. But, it didn’t feel right, after a while.”  
“I don’t think you’re the type to hide from the truth,” Harry said.  
“I suppose that’s why I wanted to study more,” Pandora said. “To know why things are the way they are. If I have learned anything in these months, it is that what we think the world is, it is not. We concern ourselves with delusions-ambitions, prejudices, money, society-and ignore the sunrise and the sunset, the moon and stars.”  
“Pandora, you sound a bit like Dumbledore,” Harry said bemusedly.  
“Well, I daresay one could do worse,” Pandora said. “He’s a great wizard! He realized the lapis!”  
“The…what?” Harry said.  
“The Philosopher’s Stone. Have you never asked him about that?” Pandora said.  
“Um….no. I had no idea,” Harry said. “What is a Philosopher’s Stone?”  
“It’s an alchemical object that can be distilled to create other alchemical objects, of great power,” Pandora said. “The trouble is, no one quite knows what he did with it, after he made it, and what he uses it for.”  
“He’s not the most forthcoming,” Harry admitted.  
“If I could create a Philosopher’s Stone, I would heal intellectual blindness. I’d create a serum, which heals one of false beliefs. If someone believes a lie, we could just cure them of what they believe,” Pandora said.  
“That’s quite a fancy,” Harry said. “Couldn’t we just create a really good whiskey?”  
“That is quite another alchemical procedure, the result of which is called aqua vitae,” Pandora said.  
“Aqua Vitae. Filing that one away,” Harry said.  
Dora curled up into Harry’s chest. Her head of short, curly hair was tucked under his chin. He held her small, soft form in his arms, and they drifted off to sleep together.   



	14. Chapter 14

“Where is she?” Ron said, hastily untying his school scarf. He loathed himself for letting Ginny slip off.  
Elspeth Buttershaw led him to the room where Ginny slept.  
She had seemed to be having a good time at the drag ball in Londinium, at the Molly House where he had begun his affair with Draco Malfoy. They’d taken an Egress, a magical portal that opened up from one location to another, there. He’d scanned the crowded Queen’s Closet Molly House for Draco amongst the smoothskinned, painted young men dressed in ladies’ finery. He wasn’t there, but Ron was still determined to have a good Founding Day. He was chatting up a greenskinned rustic Faery dressed like a dockworker who unloaded ships that came in from the ocean between the Faery realms, in a sweaty undershirt, his suspenders off his shoulders, when he happened to spy the retreating form of Ginny’s champagne colored dress. He followed her up the magically lit Londinium streets, but saw no trace of his sister. Ron Egressed back to the village, and looked for Ginny at the various street parties and public balls there. Costumed young people darted across the streets beneath banners strung from balconies and streetlights, laughing and calling with drunken gayety to each other.  
He caught up with her friend Henrietta Grimshaw, who looked genuinely concerned.  
“I think she’s seeing someone. She was reading a note and laughing, like it was from a boyfriend. But, you know how girls are when they’re seeing someone they can’t tell anyone about. Sort of cagey and elated at the same time. She was rather like that, this afternoon,” Henrietta said.  
“She mention his name?” Ron asked.  
“Well, I can tell you who he’s not, at least. She was mortified when I told her people have been saying she’s dating Harry Potter,” Henrietta said.  
“Grand, we’ve narrowed that down,” Ron said sarcastically, “But who is it?”  
“I don’t know, but she made a big fuss of being invited to a private ball out in the countryside, so she told me she was going to try to ditch you and make it out there. I helped her get dressed, naturally-she doesn’t know Stella McCartney from Chanel on her best day, and she was really out of sorts. I let her borrow this ancient old thing of mine, a Rodarte I wore when the American ‘Vogue’ magazine wanted a look at our summer house, and did her hair,” Henrietta said. “Then I had to be off.”  
“Um…thanks,” Ron said.  
He wasn’t sure about half of what Henrietta had said, but he gathered Ginny had ditched him to meet up with a bloke at a country house outside Hogsmeade. The trail went cold, there, as Ron had no idea what house that could have been. He decided to return to Hogwarts and wait up for Ginny, to tell her off, when Dumbledore found him and told him she was injured, and at Buttershaw Hall.  
“What happened to me?” Ginny said, lying in a fancy canopy bed.  
She looked young, sick, pale, small, and terrified.  
“I don’t know yet, Gin. Dumbledore just said that you’d been hurt. Can you not remember?” Ron asked.  
She shook her head, and then began to cry.  
Ron slept on the floor by her bed. When he woke up, the room was lit by gray morning light, and there was a knock on the door.  
Ron opened it. It was Harry Potter, his best friend.  
“Hey. Dumbledore brought you here?” Harry asked.  
“Yeah. He said Gin had been hurt. We were at a party in Londinium, then she gave me the slip. I lost track of her, but her roommate, Grimshaw, said that she’d planned to ditch me and meet up with a bloke,” Ron whispered.  
Harry cocked his head towards the hallway outside, gesturing for Ron to join him there. They stood across from Elspeth Buttershaw’s English rose wallpaper, and closed the white painted door of the room where Ginny slept.  
“There was no bloke, it was Riddle,” Harry said. “He possessed her.”  
Fear and shock gripped Ron from the inside out. “What? What d’you mean?”  
Harry told him about Ginny’s behavior, including her attempt on his life.  
“Harry, she doesn’t seem to know! She doesn’t remember anything!” Ron said.  
“’Course not-she was possessed,” Harry said. “I don’t blame her. Voldemort used her, to get to me. I’m so sorry.”  
“You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” Ron said. “Harry…we’ve got to get him. You know that, don’t you?”  
“I know it. And we will,” Harry said.  
“I mean, we. Where you go, I go. As far as we can, till he’s done. Promise me,” Ron said.  
“I promise,” Harry said.  
“He’s out to kill my best friend, and he could’ve killed my sister,” Ron said. “all for what?”  
“The world,” Harry said.  
“Who wants to rule the bloody world? Sounds like a headache. You seen Dumbledore? Is he still here?” Ron said.  
“Dunno,” Harry admitted. “But, I did talk to him. He gave me a bunch of advice…and said he wants to be more involved in my education. I’ll ask him if you can learn whatever it is he wants to teach me. We do this together.”  
“Together,” Ron vowed.  
Ron and Harry went on a walk. In the Buttershaw garden, Anthea and Elspeth could be seen in the greenhouse, using earth magic to restore the orchids from the damage done by fire and ice.  
“Ron, have you been trying to learn defensive magic? Have you been sneaking off some place to learn more magic?” Harry asked.  
“Huh?” Ron asked.  
“Well, you’ve certainly been sneaking off somewhere, and the way you were talking about stopping Riddle, I thought…” Harry said. “Because, you know, I don’t want you running round, stalking the night, looking for ways to protect me. Have a normal life, if you can.”  
Harry had noticed. Thank the gods Harry didn’t know what he’d really been about, sneaking around with Draco. Sure, Draco had bullied them for years, but he wasn’t likely to put it down to coven tension, nothing personal, the way Ron had. For Harry, it was as personal as it got. He blamed all of Slytherin coven for his parent’s murder.  
“Normal’s a ship that sailed without us on it, I’m afraid,” Ron said.  
Harry laughed. “’Fraid so. So, where have you been going?”  
How could he tell Harry that he had been sneaking off to the Molly House owned by his own godfather? He must know that Sirius and Remus were not merely bachelor friends, he lived with them. But, Ron felt as if his bones were growing stiff and he was turning into a statue that could neither move nor speak at the idea of telling Harry that he was the first boy he had ever liked. He loved Harry’s thin, delicate looking frame, his rosy lips against his pale skin, his messy dark hair, his vividly green eyes…and it was so easy to be around him. It had been a crush of convenience, he had quickly realized when he knew true desire, when he and Draco kissed and it seemed impossible to stop, or to care about being caught.  
“Here and there,” Ron said.  
“Ron, is there something rather complicated going on?” Harry said.  
“Yeah, but it’ll sort out,” Ron said.  
“Can I help you sort it out?” Harry said.  
“Its not that sort of thing,” Ron said. “And its not important right now.”  
Harry gave Ron a supportive clap on the shoulder. He looked up-from a second story window of Buttershaw Hall, he could see Draco Malfoy’s thin face peering down at them.  


“You have a unique opportunity to be of service, not only to your family but to all of Wizardom,” Dumbledore said.  
“Fine, I’ll do it,” Draco said.  
“What? Cousin, no!” Pandora erupted. “You are no spy, and no Dark Wizard. What important information about the Dark Lord can you possibly glean? You will die trying.”  
Maurice, Dumbledore, Draco, and Pandora were in Maurice’s study. The men had presumably spent all night talking, and the best plan they could come up with was that Draco should return to Malfoy Manor, spy on the Death Eaters’ doings, and report to Dumbledore. Pandora felt as if she was trapped in a nightmare that wouldn’t end. What chance did her frail, peevish cousin have against the most powerful Dark Wizard alive? How could Maurice, his brother-in-law, allow it? And how could Albus Dumbledore suggest it? She’d walked into the room feeling awe of this great man, the legendary Gryffindor magister and headmaster of Hogwarts, the alchemist who had achieved the lapis.  
She reminded herself that she had once found Professor Snape kind and interesting. Were all men disappointments, frauds?  
“Have some faith in me, cousin,” Draco said.  
“I want to come, too. We shall marry and go to the Manor, as has always been our destiny, so no one will think twice about it. All women do all day is spy on others-it’s called gossip. So, I have much more practice than Draco, and together we will be doubly effective,” Pandora said.  
Maurice smirked bemusedly, and said, “While I don’t doubt how effective a woman determined to get to the bottom of something can be, I’m afraid Draco must go alone. Voldemort is funding an army, remember, coz? The Black family fortune could more than do that a few times over, and its stewardship will pass from Lucius to Draco upon your marriage. Voldemort is not above killing you both for it.”  
“Maurice, I must tell you: Professor Snape proposed to me. He says if we elope, truly run away together, he can keep the Black fortune out of Voldemort’s hands, and Cissy and Lucy safe,” Pandora said.  
“What?” Maurice sputtered.  
Dumbledore wore an interested, and disapproving frown.  
“Thank you for that intelligence, Pandora,” he said placidly. “Do indulge the sentimentality of an old man just long enough for me to tell you, that you look strikingly like your mother.”  
“Thank you, Sir,” Pandora said. “I have been told that she was a dear student of your’s.”  
“Ada Valancourt had a brilliant mind, and a noble heart. Your mother’s treatments for Dragon Pox saved many lives. She was a singularly determined person,” Dumbledore said. “I am sure that you have inherited her utter refusal to relent when you believe you can be of use. But, humor me, once more. Wars have different theaters of battle, do they not? Pandora, for reasons that are every bit as important as Draco’s presence at Malfoy Manor will prove to be, I want you to come to Hogwarts.”  
“I have been there these three days, Sir; in order for my aunt to be near my cousin, Professor Snape has let us the use of his rooms,” Pandora said.  
“Did anything inappropriate occur, whilst you were there?” Maurice asked. Dumbledore hushed him with a slight gesture of his hand.  
“You misunderstand me-I wish you to enroll, as a student. Forgive me for saying so, but I think your uncle’s wishes for your education, tailored as they were to the role you played in his ambitions to enrich the House of Malfoy with your marriage, are rendered irrelevant by his current enthrallment to Lord Voldemort. You have a hereditary place at Hogwarts, to study, with either the Slytherin, or Ravenclaw students, either your father’s or your mother’s coven. Which do you choose, Pandora?” Dumbledore said.  
Now, Snape had no power over her, and she could study all she needed to be an alchemist! She could heal the sick, as her mother had done…and perhaps no one would ever lose their mother again, to the weakness of heart to which she had lost her’s. The Healer had not been able to save herself, and Pandora’s father had not been able to find the cure, either. She would, she vowed, or at least she would devote her career to trying. The door was open to her, now. She had imagined herself free, educated, wearing a school scarf, walking through Hogsmeade freely with Harry, and now it could happen.  
“Ravenclaw,” she said.  
Dumbledore merely nodded, and she felt that whatever choice she would have made, he would have allowed it, neither approving or disapproving, but waiting to see how it would turn out. His eyes were curious, but patient.  
Draco took her hands, and kissed them. “It’s for the best, cousin.”  
“I shall see you again, shan’t I, Cousin?” Pandora said. Draco was her friend, her childhood. She loved him, perhaps not as her aunt and uncle had hoped, but he would always live in her heart as family, and an era of her life.  
“Don’t be maudlin. This isn’t bloody Hawksmoor,” he said.  
Dumbledore opened an Egress before him, and he languidly stepped in, and then disappeared. Both their new lives had so suddenly begun.  
“I shall speak to Professor Snape about the inappropriate nature of proposing marriage to students in his charge, Miss Black,” Dumbledore said. “I hope you will feel comfortable at Hogwarts, and view it as your new home.”  
She nodded, and smiled, and managed to say, “Thank you, sir,” but she was dumbfounded by the events of the last week.  
Only when Dumbledore had left Maurice’s study did she realize that she couldn’t begin her studies without a wand.  
Snape had said he would teach her to make one, but she wanted nothing from him, now, and hopefully after speaking with Dumbledore he would keep his distance. Pandora wondered what her mother would do. Dumbledore, Rosmerta, and even Snape had all described her as ‘determined’. What would Ada Valancourt Black do if someone had snapped her wand?  
Pandora figured she would make another and do it on her own.  
She went to the Buttershaw library and looked for any title which seemed to suggest it was about wandmaking. She pulled down some likely titles, and began reading and making notes.  
“Studying already? You and Hermione really are going to love each other,” said Harry, as he entered the library.  
“Harry!” Pandora said happily  
He hugged her, and said, “You’re coming to Hogwarts! Dora, this is brilliant!”  
“Well, it would be, but I have no wand,” She said.  
“Oh, right-you used mine, last night, when Gin attacked. What happened to your’s?” he asked.  
“I never had one. I’d been using one Lucy found in the attic at Malfoy Manor, but Severus grew cross with me, and snapped it,” she said.  
Harry frowned, and looked troubled. “Are you worried about what it will be like at Hogwarts for you, with him around? If he bothers you there, Dora, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”  
“I’ve spoken to Dumbledore about it. He knows about Professor Snape’s proposal,” Pandora said. “When Snape broke my wand, he said he would teach me to make another. I’ve found some resources.”  
“Pandora…I think making a wand would take a lot longer than a weekend,” Harry said.  
“Its an interesting discipline, to be sure,” she murmured, scanning a page in an open book about the language of trees. “I suppose you’re right. I just wanted to tackle this, head on. I never want to need him again, I always want to be able to find things out, and put them into practice myself.”  
“I know how you feel. You want to stand on your feet again, put Snape behind you,” Harry said. “But, don’t you think maybe you’re fixating on the issue of the wand because you’re angry about all of it?”  
Pandora sighed. “I was so frightened of him…and I hate feeling that way. Yes, I was angry. But, I’m angry at my uncle, too. He was always so kind to me. He called me Crumpet, just like he did his daughters. But, he held us all from school so that we would be ignorant, compliant brides. Dumbledore, a stranger, has given me what I most want, an education…my uncle, who loves me, denied me from it, and Snape manipulated me with it,” Pandora said. “I….Harry, I’m furious.”  
“Change the world with it,” Harry said. “Become a great Alchemist, show the world what you can do, and help others, where you can. Use that anger, Pandora, make it something better.”  
“Do you really believe I can, Harry?” Pandora said.  
Harry kissed her. “I do,” he said. “I’ll always believe in you, Dora.”  
She murmured his name as they kissed, and Harry’s arms came round her waist.  
“Sorry to interrupt, but incoming plot twist: you’re spending the rest of the weekend at home. You and I need to have a long overdue talk,” Sirius said, as he and Remus walked into the library.  
“Dumbledore was kind enough to inform us that there was an attempt on your life, Harry,” Remus said.  
“Nice of him to mention it,” Sirius said. “sorry, am I interrupting something more important to you?”  
Pandora and Harry broke apart. She reached to nervously comb her hair behind her ear, but her curls were much shorter than she was accustomed.  
“Sirius, I want you to meet someone. This is Pandora Black, your niece,” Harry said.  
“How do you do…Uncle?” Pandora said.  
Remus looked at Sirius. His face was engraved with awe.  
“How’d I not see it? You look just like Reg. He was always pretty as a girl. And you’ve got Ada’s eyebrows, and her mouth…” he said, in awe. He touched her face tentatively, and then hugged her, picked her up, and spun her round.  
“Told you he was mad,” Harry said, when Sirius had set her down. Pandora was laughing, and Sirius was wearing his most redeeming smile, the one that made him look handsome, and years younger.  
“I take it you’re happy to see me?” Pandora asked.  
“Happy to see you?! Yes! Pandora, dear girl, I haven’t seen you since you were a red faced, crying babe in arms. It was after your mother died, I looked in on your father,” Sirius said.  
“Was he ill?” Pandora asked.  
“His mind had gone, dear. He couldn’t live without your mother. There wasn’t a great deal of love, in our house, growing up, and when he found Ada…” Sirius said. “I wanted you, dear. Wanted to bring you up. But, my life hasn’t exactly been either pure or simple, if you will, and the Malfoys got you. That wasn’t my wish. When we found Harry…I wished all the more that we were all together.”  
“Now, we are,” Remus said.  
“Uncle Sirius…I hardly know what to say. You don’t know how much it means to me, that you wanted me to live in your household. I am so glad to have found you,” Pandora said.  
“Well, I see you found Harry first. And you two have, I see, developed a warm relationship,” Sirius said, his eyebrows raised in bemusement. Pandora blushed, and looked down at the hem of her nightgown.  
“Sirius, slow down. You’ve only just met. He rather pounces, doesn’t he?” Remus said. “Pandora, I’m Remus Lupin. Your uncle is my…dearest friend.”  
“I’m honored to meet you,” Pandora said. “to know that you both wanted to give me a home as a child is an incomparable gift. I thank you.”  
“Allow us to give you a home, now. Dumbledore tells me you’ll be at Hogwarts. You’re welcome to our house in Hogsmeade anytime, for as long as you like, dear,” Sirius said.  
“Sirius, that’s brilliant!” Harry said.  
“Thank you, Uncle. But, I am not the only one in need of a home. My aunt, Narcissa…” she said.  
“Ah, Cissy,” Sirius said, with wary fondness.  
“I need you to help her. She isn’t well, and she cannot go home. But, I think she is a bit…perturbed with you, for leaving the family,” Pandora said.  
“Cissy was like a little sister to me. I adored her. But, she’s got a temper. Look, why do you think I never pressed the point, about her bringing you up? She’s got a good heart, she means well. Let me talk to her, she’ll come ‘round,” Sirius said. “And, I’ll do all I can for her.”  
“Thank you, Uncle,” Pandora said. Her relief was palpable.  
“So…how did you find her, Harry?” Sirius asked.  
Pandora and Harry told Sirius and Remus all about the red string that had connected them in Hogsmeade.  
“Very rare, old magic,” Remus said. “It cannot be undone, you understand? Wherever you go, you will always be connected.”  
Pandora and Harry reached for each other’s hands, and the look they gave each other made it clear to Sirius and Remus that they were glad of this.


	15. Chapter 15

With reluctance, Harry left Buttershaw Hall, and Pandora, and returned to the house he had shared with Remus and Sirius on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, since he was 12. He warmed to the sight of Sirius’s guitars and Buddhist statues and wall scrolls, and Remus’s various books and curiosities like a Medieval alchemist’s alembic, an astrolabe, Chinese oracle bones and inscribed, broken jade tablets in a glass case, and faked photographs of ghosts by nineteenth century American spiritualists. He slept like the dead, and woke up to a hearty breakfast of pancakes with strawberry jam. After breakfast, Sirius enlisted his help to add some touches to his Zen garden. Harry had a feeling that long overdue talk was imminent. 

Harry and Sirius planted cherry trees in the Zen garden across from the deck in the backyard. Fat, spotted koi splashed in the small pond under the shade of the plum and magnolia trees already planted, and a statue of Quan Yin, the Buddhist goddess of compassion, overlooked the pond. 

“Sirius,” Harry said, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Anything-ask away,” Sirius said. He was wearing jeans and a black tshirt, and the short sleeves exposed the Runic tattooes that lined his arms. Having them applied, Sirius had explained to him, was meditative.

“What was your brother, Pandora’s father, like?” Harry asked.

Sirius sighed, and put away the shovel he had been holding. He shook his long, gracefully graying black hair out of his eyes. 

“Regulus was my twin. He was a good person, maybe too good. He wanted to please everyone, and so he was always a little…jittery, unless he was with someone he totally trusted. Then, he was a bit more himself…but, trouble is, I don’t think he ever entirely figured out who that was. He loved Ada with all he had, though, and things looked good for him, for a while. Till she got sick. Always had a weak heart, Ada-she was born with it. And even alchemy, it turns out, couldn’t fix a thing like that,” Sirius said. 

He shook his head, lamentingly, staring past the Zen garden and Harry as if looking at phantoms. 

“And, Regulus took it hard? You told Dora that when you visited him, his mind had gone,” Harry said.

“Harry…when Ada died, he turned to science to try to fix what he thought was an aberration. My brother took it into his head that if a man with enough skill and will applied himself to solving the problem of death, he could cure it for once and for all,” Sirius said. 

“I’m not sure what you mean. I mean, how is that possible?” Harry asked.

“Its not! But, my brother was mad, Harry! He really thought he could bring Ada back to the land of the living, somehow. He isolated himself with his experiments, wouldn’t let me in, or Remus, wouldn’t let your mum in,” Sirius said.

“My mum?” Harry said.

“Oh, yeah, they were big friends. I think they had some kind of buddy system in the library in case one of them got lost in there, under a landslide of books,” Sirius quipped. “In all seriousness, he was shy, didn’t have many friends, but she was one of them. But, he blocked out everyone…everyone except that little creep.”

“Who?” Harry asked. 

“Snape,” Sirius spat. “He has an uncanny gift or a bad habit, depending on how you slice it, of making himself useful to people with money. I was older than Reg, by a whole ten minutes, but all the same, I was named heir. Since I was disinherited, Regulus got everything, he was the heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, and he was mad as a hatter. Snape was by his side, whispering in his ear, helping him carry out all his experiments, no matter how mad or vile…until finally, he convinced him that Voldemort could help him succeed in his purpose.”

“Snape brought your brother over to the Death Eaters?” Harry said, shocked.

Sirius nodded grimly. “We knew him in school. An insecure, scraping and bowing poseur who sucked up to anyone, professor or student, whom he thought could help him along. People like that turn to hate groups when every honest avenue of advancement slams the door in their faces, convinced that some evils are necessary,” he said. “I think he always fancied Ada-who knows, maybe he’d been jealous of Reg all along for ending up with her. My brother was guarded, but if he trusted you, he trusted you-he only saw Snape as a friend, no ulterior motives.”

“Sirius….I’m so sorry,” Harry said. 

Sirius gave Harry a sad smile, and clapped his shoulder.

“You’re just like your mother. You feel for everyone,” Sirius said. “Well, Pandora was just a baby then. She’s a few months older than you. I let her down.”

“No!” Harry protested at once.

“Its true. I should’ve tried harder to get through to Reg. Then, went and got myself locked up, that didn’t bloody help matters,” Sirius said.

Sirius had been captured while on a mission for the anti-Riddle resistance, and was imprisoned in a torture camp for political dissenters, Drakenberg-where Riddle later built his sordid arena for the Dark Trial.

“Sirius, you were wrongfully imprisoned by a tyrant. You’re not to blame because a bad thing happened to you,” Harry said.

Sirius smiled sadly. His face was heavily lined, prematurely aged, when in repose, but when he smiled he looked markedly rejuvenated, handsome with a tragic air. He affectionately tapped Harry on his nose. Harry laughed, as he swatted Sirius’s hand away.

“Thank you, Harry. Seeing Pandora all grown up…it was bloody surreal. So long its been, now, since those days. My brother, he was so young. Only a few years older than you are, now, Harry. We all were,” Sirius said. “I sound like a barmy old codger, don’t I? No one wants to hear all that ‘back in my day’ tripe.”

“Sirius, you can talk to me,” Harry said. “about anything.”

“Perhaps not anything,” Sirius said. “But, I have been meaning to talk to you about all the trouble you’ve been getting in at school. I got into a fair bit of trouble at Hogwarts myself, as you’re probably aware.”

“I heard you and my dad were, as McGonagall puts it, ‘chronically disruptive’,” Harry said fondly. 

“Yeah, for two different reasons, though. Your dad was smart, got bored easily, maybe a little in love with himself, but also needed others to love him, too, and he was an only child so school was his outlet and his playground,” Sirius said.

“And you?” Harry said.

“Me? I had an ax to grind at the whole world, for how I was treated at home. I just exploded when I felt like someone was trying to tell me what to do, because I felt like I had enough of that, I couldn’t take anymore,” Sirius said.

“That’s how I’ve felt, since the Dark Trial at Drakenberg. I just can’t take any more! Any more bloody Slytherins, and their fucking purist ideology, any more Riddle on the loose, taking people in with that garbage!” Harry said.

“You could bloody scream, couldn’t you?” Sirius prodded.

“Yeah!” Harry said.

“So scream! Go for it, what’s stopping you?” Sirius said.

Harry screamed. Sirius did too, and eventually they both ended up laughing.

“Sirius, what was that?” Harry said.

“Micro primal scream therapy. I read that John and Yoko did it,” Sirius said, with a shrug.

“What’s going on, here?” Remus said, hurrying out to the Zen garden in his pyjamas.

“Therapy,” Harry said.

Sirius hugged him around his shoulders. “Just teaching Harry, in action, about the value of not keeping his emotions bottled up. You go off at the least provocation you perceive. Gotta get it all out,” he said.

“Oh, and are you a doctor, now?” Remus quipped.

“If I was, I’d prescribe punk rock. Bring out your guitar sometimes, wail a bit, you’ll be all right,” Sirius said.

“Harry, what Sirius is trying to say is, when you tamp your emotions down, they don’t go away, they layer. And when you get too full, you explode. Its human nature, but it can be avoided by being honest with yourself,” Remus said. “The Slytherin boys are a provocation to you because of the association you have with their coven and Riddle, and your parents’ death.”

“He hunted them down, killed them, but he was trying to kill me. I don’t understand. Why?” Harry said.  
Remus and Sirius looked at each other. They exchanged a meaningful look, and then nodded. It was time.  
“There was a prophecy, which stated that a boy born on the night the comet passed, under the sign of the phoenix, would defeat Voldemort,” he said. “none of us will ever understand why he decided that boy was you, Harry.”

Harry looked stonily calm, taking it all in, trying not to explode again. Remus and Sirius let him sort out his emotions, let the silence pass. Finally, with a frown knitting his brow as if he was trying to figure out something, he spoke. 

“When Ginny was possessed, she said something about…phoenixes and dragons. He wanted her to tell me. That Phoenix and Dragon were evenly matched, and needn’t be enemies,” Harry said.

“Hmm…” Sirius said. “Sounds like an old Chinese saying: When Dragon meets Phoenix….”

“What’s the rest?” Harry said. “What happens when Dragon meets Phoenix?”

“That’s the thing-there are many Chinese proverbs that allude to well known stories of the cultural ken, and trail off that way because the listener should be familiar enough with the story to infer the implication. Essentially, it means that only the Dragon and the Phoenix are each other’ equals in power, and a fight between them will be a draw,” Remus said.  
“He wants me to join him. Dumbledore said that’s how megalomania works, you think you can make anything happen, get the better of anyone, no matter how you’ve hurt them,” Harry said. “But he can’t turn me. I’ll never forget what he did to my family.”  
“Harry, no one expects you to forget. But healing is not the same as forgetting,” Sirius said. “You’ve got to heal. And, you can. Putting Drakenberg, the war, and losing Reg and your Mum and Dad behind me wasn’t easy, but I’m doing it; every day, I can breathe a bit freer. You can heal, Harry.”  
“How?” Harry said, looking from Remus to Sirius.  
“Time,” Remus said. “and observing your emotions, naming them, and letting them go.”  
“With screaming and punk rock?” Harry asked.  
“With whatever works for you, as long as its not a controlled substance,” Sirius said. “We’re going to protect you, Harry, and teach you how to protect yourself.”  
“And Dora. If she’s connected to me, I have to protect her,” Harry said.  
“Thankfully, she’ll be attending Hogwarts and learning a fair bit about how to protect herself,” Remus said. “One of our old friends from school will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, this year.”  
“Really?” Harry said. “What’s he like? What’s his name?”  
“Robert Fortune. He’s been something of a magician for hire since we left school, specializing in helping Muggles whose lives have been infested by dark magical forces rid themselves of them. He’s well versed in many traditions, and has a lot of experience,” Remus said. “Dumbledore would like for him to teach you some shielding techniques, privately, if that’s all right with you.”  
“And Ron, and Hermione,” Harry said passionately.  
Sirius and Remus smiled reminiscently at each other, remembering what it was like to be young and burning with loyalty for your friends.   
“But today is Saturday, and we want you to try and relax,” Sirius said.  
“So, I’m doing yardwork? That’s psychologically injurious,” Harry said. Sirius ruffled his hair. Harry grimaced in protest. Sirius went back to the house, and Harry assumed that they had agreed to talk to him both together and one at a time.   
Remus sat in crosslegged pose beside the Quan Yin, and began to meditate.  
“Join me, Harry,” Remus said.  
“I don’t really know how,” Harry said.  
“Sit,” Remus said. Harry did so.   
“Now, breathe into your stomach. Let it go. Focus on your breathing,” Remus said.  
Harry started to feel calm. It was like nothing he had ever known before. He was used to pretending that he was feeling better than he was, or feeling nothing at all, or distracting himself with something fun like sports, candy, his friends. Lately, there were thoughts of Dora, their lingering, passionate kisses, the smell of apple blossoms and the breath of orchids, the feel of her hair, and her skin. But, as pleasant as all of these things were, none of them were calm. That was another phenomenon. It was transformative. Though the world raged outside, there was a newborn ocean of serenity inside Harry. He felt his stomach relax, his feet, the nerves around his eyes and forehead…he felt lighter, and only now realized how tense he had been.   
“Meditation has been instrumental in helping reduce the pain I experience due to my lycanthropy. I think it can also help the phenomenal stress you are facing, Harry,” Remus said. “I’m sorry if I haven’t always understood.”  
“Its all right. I don’t always understand it, myself. How long have you known about the prophecy?” Harry asked.  
“Since shortly after the Tri-Wizard Tournament,” Remus said. “We didn’t want you to know, because sometimes we all set too much store by that sort of thing. No matter how grim a prediction, there is still some comfort in thinking that our lives are predestined, and we order our lives accordingly. We didn’t want you to feel doomed.”  
“I’m not going to give up. He’ll try again, I know that. I just don’t know when,” Harry said.  
“Waiting, they say, is the hardest part,” Remus said.  
“I just don’t want to waste time, when there is so much good in my life. You, and Sirius, you’re my family, I love our life. And, now there’s Dora. Sirius seems at peace, being able to know her,” Harry said. “If there is fate, I think that it gives us good things, and bad things, not just one or the other.”  
Remus smiled.   
“The benefits of meditation-when your mind is rested, you can sort out your thoughts, weigh the good and the bad,” Remus said.  
“Remus, can I ask you something?” Harry said. Remus nodded, so Harry continued,   
“Do you and Sirius have a red chord?”   
Remus shook his head. He looked sad and far away, as Sirius had done.   
“My chord led to someone else,” Remus said. “But, we can have many loves of many different kinds, throughout our lives, Harry, and not one is less than the other.”  
“Where are they? The person you were bound to?” Harry asked.  
“I have reason to believe that they are dead. I don’t know for certain, but I believe that is the case. I think it must be,” Remus said.  
“I’m sorry,” Harry said.  
“You are a very kind boy,” Remus said, and kissed the top of Harry’s head.  
Harry felt happy, and grateful, once again, that he had tried to steal Remus’s wallet, that day. 

Remus left Harry by the Zen garden, looking at the koi.  
“Look at him-he’s really chilled out. Good for him,” Sirius said, watching Harry through the French doors in the kitchen.   
Sirius had showered, apparently, and was drying his hair with a towel. He was shirtless, exposing the Runic tattooes on his chest and belly. Some were from before Drakenberg, others were from after. Remus knew them all by heart, and he swore that the ink beneath Sirius’s skin had a lingering acrid taste that he could pick up on beneath the salty taste of Sirius’s skin.  
Remus opened his arms, and he and Sirius embraced tenderly. Sirius kissed him, gently, but passionately.   
“It hurts…not to be able to promise him that everything will be all right,” Remus said.  
“He was never that kind of kid,” Sirius said.  
“He never got a chance to be,” Remus said.   
“No…” Sirius said. “But, all we have is now.”

“Hmm….Cousin, I am beginning to admire your hair just as it is! I think you might start a vogue for it, just watch,” Anthea said. She handed Pandora a bundle of floral cotton, white flowers against a lilac background, and added, “Here, a fresh gown, a chemise, for after your bath.”  
Pandora looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was still regrettably short, and she was wearing a nightgown Anthea had lent her. All her life, everything she owned was given to her by the Malfoys. She had never thought of it until Snape told her that she mustn’t take any more charity from them, not when it came to her magic. He had been her teacher, her only teacher, and his opinions were still in her mind like dye in water. But, soon she would begin school. She knew she would see him there, and be taught by him again in Potions…but this was after his desperate attempt to get her to marry him.   
“Cousin? What’s on your mind?” Anthea said, and gestured for Pandora to sit beside her on the edge of the bed.  
Pandora explained her apprehension, and its source, to Anthea.  
“I never had much to do with that Snape man…but I always thought Mummy trusted him too much,” Anthea said. “Father has all the wrong sorts hanging about him. He thinks they are his men, because he pays them…but secrets are a currency all their own, and they get too close to us.”  
“How should I behave, in his class at Hogwarts?” Pandora said.  
“As if he is no one. As if you were born in one of the 28 purest families in Britain, and he is a grasping poseur. As if while your ancestors were writing treatises on sorcery in the libraries of Cleopatra, his were…herding sheep, or being slaughtered by Vikings, or something,” Anthea said.  
“Anthea, that doesn’t help! Who cares what our ancestors were doing? What does it have to do with someone’s worth?” Pandora said.  
“Oh, you sound like Maurice,” Anthea said. “And you are quite right. I can tell you one thing I have heard, about that Snape man, that you must be mindful of, now that you mean to marry Harry Potter.”  
“Marry? We have only just met!” Pandora said.  
Anthea waved her hand as if this was no matter.  
“Riddle wants Potter’s blood. Maybe he thinks it will hurt Dumbledore, maybe it is because people say Potter is the heir of Gryffindor. I don’t know. But…I have heard that Snape is a spy planted by Riddle to keep abreast of Dumbledore’s doings,” Anthea said. “he was a doctor at Drakenberg, Riddle’ prison, and did horrible things to people…but, you know, the Guild made a big to-do of ‘reforming’ some of Riddle’s men. Snape never stopped being Riddle’s man, some people say.”  
“Nor did Uncle,” Pandora confessed.  
“Maurice has told me about Father’s recent decisions. I could strangle him, Dora! How could he do this to my mother?! She was young, when she married, and immediately threw herself into fashionable society, as she was expected to do…then, I was born, and Draco, you, and Lucy, and we were her chief care. She knows how to be an admired beauty and how to be a mother, not how to survive on her own,” Anthea said. “what will she do, now? And my little Lucilla….she is always kicking against the bricks, but if only she knew there is nothing else out there, nothing more than what is allowed to us.”  
“Anthea…how can you say so? Maurice is a good husband to you, isn’t he? Doesn’t he…give you your freedom?” Pandora said.  
Anthea laughed. “If I told Maurice to fetch me an elephant from India, he’d walk there! Whatever I require to be comfortable or amused, yes, he would procure it at the snap of my fingers. But, if I told him that I wanted to speak in the Guild, or study Second Degree magic in an apprenticeship with a Master Wizard? I suspect he would take my temperature and have the maids put me to bed! He is the academic, the politician, and he may think I am capable, but he sees me as his wife,” she said  
“I want more. I think there can be more. Anthea, my mother was a scientist. She saved lives with the Dragon Pox treatments she formulated,” Pandora said. “And the girls at Hogwarts…they wear those funny denim pants Muggles like, and walk with boys, and sit in cafes, and they must go on and do all sorts of things after they learn First Degree magic…”  
“And, now you shall be one of them,” Anthea said. “But, be on your guard, Cousin. As I said, they say he is a spy for Riddle, and Riddle wants your beloved dead. And, Snape, it seems, wants you. Be careful, but be confident. Believe that whatever men get up to, one strong woman can best them all.”  
Dora smiled, and hugged Anthea.   
“I have missed you, Cousin,” Dora said.  
“I’m sorry I stayed away,” Anthea said.  
“Its not your fault. You got married. Your new life began. Are you…really going to have a baby?” Pandora asked.  
Anthea smiled, and placed Pandora’s hand on her belly. Beneath the generous fabric of Anthea’s empire waisted gown, she felt a hard, round swell.  
Pandora and Anthea smiled.   
“If it’s a boy, Asclepius,” Anthea said. “If it’s a girl, Antigone…she was a remarkable young woman, in Greek myth, who stood up to her oppressors.”  
Pandora gave Anthea’s hand a loving squeeze.


	16. Chapter 16

Pandora returned to Hogwarts with Maurice. Her heart thrilled to the sight of the castle, nestled in its natural protection of craggy mountains and silver fjords. Was there no end to its towers, bridges, and different wings? It was like a city within a fortress. Her stomach lurched not just from the Pegasi drawn carriage, but from the prospect of attending it, one of the most notable institutes of magical learning in Wizardom.  
Maurice smiled, as if reading her thoughts.  
“Don’t worry-you’re a clever girl, and the professors here know talent when they see it. Just do your best,” Maurice said.  
“Thank you, Coz,” Pandora said sincerely. “Did you enjoy your time at Hogwarts?”  
“Immensely,” Maurice said, smiling, and told Dora all about the castle, its many twisting corridors and winding staircases, its ghosts and it’s the secret chambers and passages which were rumored but whose existence wasn’t proven. He also described the classes that Dora would be taking. She was excited and daunted in equal measure.   
The carriage descended, and was taken to the school’s vast stables.  
“Hullo, Dora!” Hagrid said enthusiastically, as he led her and Maurice up to the castle.  
“Hello, Mr. Hagrid! Its lovely to see you again. How is the menagerie?” Pandora said.  
Hagrid regaled them with an account of his work for the day with the Fantastic Beasts. Dora was legitimately interested, but her stomach was growing tighter at the thought of going up to the staff quarters. What if Snape was there, attending to her aunt? At the most random, unexpected moments, the memory of him kissing her stole across her thoughts. She wished it had never happened.  
Her aunt was awake, alert, and rushed to her.  
“Pandora, what is going on? First, we were rushed away from the ball, back to the castle, but you remained, and now, here you are, and what has happened to your hair?” Narcissa said.  
“Maurice thought the castle would be safest for you, but I didn’t want to leave…” she almost said that she didn’t want to leave Harry, but substituted his name with, “Anthea.”  
“Yes, of course,” Narcissa said. “So, you spent the night at Buttershaw Hall, to comfort her.”  
“Yes, that is right, Madam Malfoy. Pandora was of great comfort after the fire in the greenhouse. Anthea was most upset,” Maurice said.  
“I look forward to attending her, later,” Narcissa said.  
“A visit would be most edifying,” Maurice said.  
“Visit? I presume the coast is clear, as they say. Shall we not be lodging there? I can’t imagine that we shall be staying here much longer, presuming on what little Severus Snape is able to offer us in the way of hospitality,” Narcissa said.   
It was clear she considered Buttershaw a more suitable, and tasteful, residence than Snape’s sparse living quarters.  
“That would not be prudent, given your husband’s allegiances. I am sure you understand, my not wanting Anthea mixed up in people’s minds with the man you call Lord Voldemort, and Lucius’s involvement with him,” Maurice said. “Thankfully, while Dora and Lucy are at school, you do have a relative willing to house you.”  
Narcissa looked at her son in law in shock, on many accounts: that he would not be putting her up, that Dora and Lucy were going to Hogwarts, and that Maurcie was aware that Lucius was a Death Eater. It was not lost on Pandora, that her aunt didn’t deny her husband’s association with Riddle. It seemed that she knew even more than her husband was aware.   
“What relative?” she said.  
“Sirius Black, your cousin,” Maurice said. “He is a colleague of mine in the Guild, one I trust wholeheartedly, and of, course, he is Pandora’s uncle and would love a chance to get to know her.”  
“To use her, for her fortune! Can you not see? Is everyone blind? First, he put the Potter boy in front of her, hoping that she would be simple enough to elope with the first schoolboy to pay her a compliment. Turns out James Potter’s limp little son is no Romeo after all, and he seeks access to Pandora through me!” Narcissa raged.   
“Why do you assume that money is the only motive which animates the world?” Maurice said.   
“Because, regarding vulnerable young ladies with wealth to their name, it most certainly motivates those who take an interest in them,” Narcissa said.   
“Sirius is not in the least avaricious. He is a man of strong principles, perhaps to a fault,” Maurice said.  
“A fault?” Pandora said.  
Maurice smiled. “Yes. If it does come to war again, with the Covens, we will barely be able to restrain your uncle from the fray, depend upon it. He survived Drakenberg, he is utterly indomitable, and will surely be right in the middle of whatever Gryffindor Coven has planned to restore order,” he said.  
“Do you see? His entire loyalty is to Gryffindor, he abandoned his family for decades, beginning with my poor sister, his wife! They married when they were 16. A lovely ceremony, on the next to last day of Saturnalia, a time of merriment, and gifts. We all arrayed to watch their consummation-the well wishing eyes of family are meant to convey good luck, and fertility,” Narcissa said.  
“Anthea and I decided, as you know, to forgo that,” Maurice said.  
Narcissa ignored him, and continued her remembrance. “They were a beautiful sight…Sirius, so strong and handsome, so passionate. He and my sister had been waiting their whole lives to embrace each other, that way, to join their bodies, to be husband and wife. I watched Bella become a true wife, and I felt myself to be such a girl, an invisible and ignorant girl. Well, Sirius went back to school, and my sister turned out to be pregnant. We were all so happy. He was happy, the day my little niece was born: Belphoebe. Of course, he was sworn to secrecy. Can’t have the Ministry finding out that they’d carried out the rites of marriage, and had a child. He was overjoyed, though. He named her. Then….he changed, after coming home from school. He made a big show of how he had been forced to marry Bella, given potions and forced into the consummation, he wanted nothing more to do with her, wanted the marriage dissolved.”  
“What about Belphoebe?” Pandora asked.  
“Oh, her, he wanted. He swore that he would never forsake her. My aunt, Walburga, would not stand for the Heir to behave this way. She disowned him, and arranged for Bella to marry again, to a LeStrange. All she ever wanted was Sirius, and he had abandoned her…she went mad, as I told you, Pandora, and….well, darling, you know we are descended from the Greek Egyptians. We came to England when the great Moorish astrologers came to England with Catalina of Aragon, upon her marriage. We were Magi, alchemists, wise men, who accompanied Alexander out of Macedonia and served the Ptolemys until Cleopatra,” Narcissa said.  
“The last one, I presume. There were several Cleopatras, in the Ptolemy line,” Maurice said. “Supplimented by Berenices and Arsinoes.”   
Again, Narcissa did not acknowledge her son in law.   
“My sister thought back to the Classics, to Medea…to revenge herself upon Sirius, she killed her baby, Belphoebe,” Narcissa said. “But, don’t you see? It is his fault! He never looked back at her. He went off to play vinyl records in James Potter’s living room, to live it up like a carefree boy. It was all rock and roll and motorbikes, no thought to his responsibilities to us, his family, his House, his line! Regulus tried. Your father had a good heart, Pandora, but he was distracted by his scientific pursuits.”  
“Aunt…I hardly know what to say. You tell me that our family forced my uncle and your sister to marry, to consummate their marriage before onlookers…to lie to the authorities about a child marriage, and a baby…” Dora said. “Clearly, these circumstances drove them both mad, and Baby Belphoebe payed for it. She was an infant, her parents were children, and she, the most vulnerable, payed for the sins of tradition.”  
“No! You don’t understand! Niece, he will betray you! Your uncle will not be able to help it. He is only loyal to whatever is not in his blood,” Narcissa said.   
Pandora paced Narcissa’s room. She needed air, she needed light. She couldn’t resign the heartless, feckless youth in Narcissa’s story with the man she had met the night before, who was endearingly eccentric, lavishly affectionate, and exuberant, but whose eyes spoke eloquently of world-weariness, regret, and a wish to set things right. She had felt she could believe him, but her aunt….  
Something besides old, haunted memories and distrust of her cousin was making Narcissa so frantic. Her skin was misted with sweat, her eyes were both piercing and unfocused, and Pandora guessed that she was between doses of her ‘medicine’ but was awaiting another.  
Pandora looked out the window, at the vast lake. She imagined a young woman about her age, dressed in the 19th century style of the Vale, with hair as dark and wild as Pandora’s own, but porcelain skin instead of brown. In every other way, they were alike-girls promised in marriage to their handsome cousins, on the one hand looking forward to the day when they would be the most beautifully dressed, the queen of the day, in silk or satin and a crown of roses, on the other with no idea what marriage required or would cost, girls who had never been to school, who dreamed of passion and romance followed by a loving family, but had an undefinable yearning for more than their duties to their families.   
She thought of the way her hands had felt heavy when Snape kissed her neck, the way the potion held her hands limply at her sides and she could not communicate them to move. Bellatrix and Sirius had been in such a potion-induced haze, to be sure, when all their relatives surrounded them to watch their first coupling. Then, a baby, and Bellatrix left alone, as Sirius went off to finish his education and carry their secret …and Bellatrix’s mind, which had been starved and fed on lies, then plied with potions, had snapped at the prospect of being abandoned by the man their family had tied her to. She shuddered, and stopped herself from imagining Bellatrix’s crime.  
“Aunt, what happened to Bellatrix?” Pandora asked, turning to Maurice and Narcissa once again.  
“She couldn’t live without Sirius,” Narcissa said.  
Just as her father hadn’t been able to live without her mother. Did love always lead to madness, Pandora wondered.   
“Narcissa, I have a brief window between classes, so if you are feeling poorly don’t brave it stoically, I can prepare…” Snape said as he strode into the room. He stopped, and his dark eyes went from Maurice, to Narcissa, then alighted on Pandora.  
Pandora was neither afraid nor enraged, but some combination of the two that made her head swim.  
“Prepare a what, pray tell?” Pandora said silkily.   
“Pandora. You snuck out of the castle, out of my care, to which you have been entrusted by your uncle,” Snape said. “You cannot behave so foolishly! These are dangerous times.”  
“Your care, sir? You call proposing marriage to a young lady not 17 years old caring for her? You have no right. You have forgotten your place, I dare to say!” Maurice said, outraged.  
Snape looked contemptuous, and repeated, “My place? To what place, exactly, am I consigned, and on what account? Because of my parentage? Because my father was a Muggle? Because I work for my living, rather than coasting on a fortune that has been moldering beneath a manor for centuries? Men like you have been telling me my place since I was a boy. Do, say it plain, Mr. Buttershaw, I find innuendo quite tiresome.”  
“Because you were my teacher. Because I trusted you. I thought you believed in me, and wanted to help me. But, you had your own plans, didn’t you?” Pandora said.  
“Severus? What are they alluding to?” Narcissa asked.  
He ignored her, as she had done Maurice, and Snape said, “Pandora, I had no design. When I gave you that sleeping draught, it was only because I heard you, and you seemed to be troubled, in your sleep. Many nights, sleep has eluded me, thus…and I could not stand for you to have a single restless moment. You’re young. You don’t know what regret is. You don’t know how much a smile, a walk, a conversation alone with one person looking into your eyes can mean in a life like mine. You’re kind, as your mother was, but…you are your own person. As for my proposal… I never meant to love you. But I do, and if you allow me, I will protect you.”  
“You will never understand! You are trying to give me the burden of what you did. I did nothing to encourage you. Whatever affection I displayed towards you was because you were my teacher. I admired you, I wanted you to think I was bright and be proud of me! I thought you were the most enlightened man I had ever known. You have robbed me of that. Now, I have no one to believe in, and no one who believes in me,” Pandora said. “All because you are not who I thought you were.”  
“Pandora,” Snape sounded tortured as he said her name, as if it was being ripped from his throat. Her name was his only protest, but it was one veined with blood. “Forgive me. Let’s begin, once again. Nothing has changed-your family is in danger, and I would die to protect you.”  
“I don’t want anyone to die,” Pandora said. “will that be necessary?”  
Snape said, “Pandora, come with me. To my study.”  
“You presume to be alone with her again, Sir? I am her cousin, and do not allow it,” Maurice said.  
“Coz, you don’t understand: you do not speak for me, either!” Pandora said.  
Maurice, surprisingly, looked mollified. Pandora followed Snape to his study. He closed the door.  
“What do you decide?” Snape said.  
“Maybe I could have loved you. Maybe I was beginning to, before I realized it. That is why the girls laughed at me, when I answered all your questions and performed so well, in class. I love to learn, and I find it is easy for me…but, I also liked making you happy,” Pandora said. “I liked that you talked to me about important things. You made me feel as if I could learn more about the world. I did love you, as a dear teacher, a guide, a friend…but, you wanted me to desire you, as you desire me.”  
“I love, and desire you. Don’t think that this causes me no shame. I assisted at your birth. I loved your mother, and your father,” he said.  
“What do you think they think of you, now?” she said.  
“Ada and Regulus are dead,” Snape said. He sighed. “I planned none of this, Pandora.”  
“I cannot marry you. I cannot even trust you,” Pandora said.  
“This changes nothing for me. It adds to my shame, but you do not know the immeasurable happiness you gave me those weeks in the Vale when you looked at me with complete trust and affection. I squandered it, I ruined it, and, on your part, destroyed it. But, I will be here when you have need of me. I will protect you,” Snape said.  
“You should have protected me from you,” Pandora said.   
“Allow me to write to you,” Snape said. “Just once. So that you will know where to find me after I leave Hogwarts.”  
“You are leaving?” Pandora asked.  
“I have been dismissed,” Snape said.   
He waved his hand, and all of the personal effects in his office were swept up and deposited into his medicine bag, which he closed.   
Dora felt regret. Not at anything she had said, nor did she blame herself for his actions, or that he was leaving Hogwarts…but she hated that it had all happened this way.  
He touched her face, and looked into her eyes.   
She wasn’t afraid that he would try to kiss her again. Somehow, she knew that he wouldn’t, and in her heart of hearts she knew that he hadn’t drugged her, as he had her aunt. He’d given her the potion for what he thought was a nightmare, and then the kiss had happened because he couldn’t stop himself from doing it anymore. Still, it had caused her fear and pain.   
“This is not your fault. It is mine. You owe me nothing, but tell me, Dora…if I had not forced the issue, if I had left it up to you….could you have loved me, someday?” he asked.  
“I don’t want this sort of love. I don’t want a love that is madness, and leads to cruelty,” Pandora said.   
Snape nodded. He actually seemed to understand.  
“I will write,” Snape said. “So that I may serve you.”  
“One day, I will allow you to do so. Because, after all, you owe me,” She said.  
His eyes looked darker, the sadness in them seeming to diffuse. He nodded once more, then opened the office door. He crossed the sitting room, with no acknowledgement of Narcissa and Maurice, and walked out.   
“But…where is he going? My medicine! I need it!” Narcissa said.  
“Madam Malfoy, come with me. Allow your cousin to explain, and offer his assistance to you,” Maurice said.  
He opened an egress, and with a sad but loving look at Pandora, he and Narcissa stepped through, and were gone.   
Pandora was alone, in Snape’s former quarters. She sat down, on an ottoman. She felt breathless, relieved, shocked, and confused, all at once. She spied the Emerald Tablet, which she had been reading before the ball. It was the only familiar object left to her. It had been touched by her mother’s hands, written in by her….she hugged it, for traces of warmth.   
When she looked up, Professor Dumbledore was at the eaves of the door.  
“Miss Black…I take it there has just been a difficult scene here. Partings are never easy, especially from painful times, when we do not yet know what they have made of us,” Dumbledore said.  
“Professor…I don’t know who to trust,” Pandora said.  
“First, trust yourself. Truly trust yourself, and you will know what is real,” Dumbledore said.   
This comforted Pandora, and she felt safe accompanying Dumbledore to Ravenclaw Tower. She was introduced to the Ravenclaw students’ Guardian, Aurora Sinistra. She was a tawny skinned witch with long, dark hair, wearing floor sweeping velvet robes. Pandora felt calm in her presence, maybe because she smelled subtly of lavender. She helped Dora get settled in her office, and then explained that she would be taking a test of what she had learned so far, privately, which would determine how her classes would proceed. Dora had always had a good memory for what she had read, or been taught, and was glad of a task to direct her mind towards to forget the scene in Snape’s quarters-his obsessive passion for her, her aunt’s drug addled state, and her story about her uncle.  
She focused on each question, and the answers spilled from her. She hadn’t realized just how much she had learned from reading in her uncle’s library, listening to people talk, sneaking peeks at Draco’s schoolbooks, and her lessons with Snape.   
“Your test indicates that you have a good grasp of each subject,” Professor Sinistra said. “But, you will need a wand.”  
“Yes, Ma’am,” Pandora said.   
She wasn’t sure how she would procure one, but after Professor Dumbledore’s encouragement to trust herself, she saw her dealings with Snape in a different light. Never, at any time, had she encouraged or allowed him to treat her as he had, and on more than one occasion, she had confronted him. Now, he was gone, because she had told Professor Dumbledore about his conduct. She had taken chances, and met Harry at the menagerie and the ball. She had reacted effectively when he was attacked, established the beginning of a relationship with her estranged uncle, and helped her aunt and Lucy to secure a new home. She couldn’t help Draco, but something about his eyes as they parted had told her that he needed to carry out his mission, just as she had needed to take the chances and speak the truths that she had.  
Dora believed in herself. She was sure she could come by a wand, somewhere, somehow.   
“You really do have a solid grasp of a variety of disciplines,” Professor Sinistra said once again. “I am quite pleased. Not every young lady from the Vale, who begins school a little later than 11, has such a good foundation.”  
“I confess, I have been something of a magpie. I picked up all I could from any source,” Pandora said.  
Professor Sinistra nodded. “A near unquenchable thirst for knowledge is one of the marked characteristics of our coven. Miss Black, if you contribute all that you can, with genuine goodwill, to your coven, it will always serve you as a community of likeminded people, working towards the same aims and helping each other when and where we can. A gathering of Ravenclaws is not one of political or avaricious design. Our coven most earnestly interests itself in gathering, trying, and preserving knowledge,” she said. “I think you will do well here. To whom shall I speak on the matter of your school supplies? You will need a uniform, books, a cauldron and stirring utensils, bird handling gloves, a sturdy cloak, writing implements…I shall make up a list, but, dear, who is your guardian?”  
“I suppose…that would be my uncle, Sirius Black,” Pandora said.  
“Ah, yes. Quite a loud snorer, in my Astronomy classes, I recall, but an able and enthusiastic student of Astrology. He didn’t really believe in the divinatory attributes of the stars, but had an impressive recall of symbols and mythology,” said Professor Sinistra.   
Pandora recalled what her aunt had said about Bellatrix being inspired by Medea to murder her and Sirius’s little daughter, Belphoebe, and felt cold.  
“All my family are named for myths, and myths are so often enshrined in the stars,” Pandora said. She recalled Snape saying that if the stars were within reach, so he had dared to grasp for them, as an explanation for falling in love with her.  
Professor Sinistra gave Pandora a benevolently penetrating look, and said,  
“Once you begin, it will all become more natural. But, beginnings are always hard, and rather exhausting.”  
“I have had a busy few days,” Pandora admitted.   
“We shall get you settled in the Ravenclaw dormitory,” she said, and led Pandora there.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all the readers!

“Sirius is in Londinium, but I was home to receive Professor Sinistra’s owl,” Remus Lupin said. “How are you settling in?”  
They were in the near empty Ravenclaw common room, a large sitting room in a tower room with a great oriel window with a view of the mountains, dark and snow-capped, the snow capturing and reflecting the scant sunlight. Most of the students were home for the weekend. Pandora had been visited by Lucy, who was getting used to Hogwarts life in Hufflepuff house, as well, but with a twist: she had chosen to live as a boy during the duration of her time at Hogwarts, and had robbed her ancestry in both directions to compile the false name Ptolemy Fanshawe. Her hair was cropped as short as Dora’s own, and she looked like Draco at 13. She seemed thrilled at her disguise, and content with their new surroundings. Aside from meals, served by house elves, Dora spent much of her time reading. She felt like quiet, and solitude.  
“Quite well,” she said, but as she answered, she felt a twist of sadness-she’d thought to see Harry, but hadn’t since they parted at Buttershaw Hall.  
“We, Sirius and I, told Harry that you needed some time to gather your thoughts, before beginning your first week at Hogwarts. He wasn’t happy with either of us, mind, but I know he understands,” Remus said, as if reading her thoughts.  
“Thank you. I was quite shocked by how all of this has turned out. My uncle, my aunt, Professor Snape…they’re all gone,” Pandora said.  
Remus smiled sadly. “I was in a similar position, after Riddle’s downfall. My best friends, hunted and killed. Sirius, still in Drakenberg. I was quite without anything comfortable or familiar,” he said.  
“How did you go on?” Pandora said.  
“I thought of the good times. I thought of how much they all loved me, and what they gave me. I admitted to myself that they were, none of them, perfect people, nor am I, and that there were difficult times, too, and those had shaped me as much as the good. And, I was able to love myself enough to find new ways to live. They loved me, so I owed them the effort to love myself,” Remus said. “Neither your aunt, your uncle, or my old friend, Severus, were perfect. All of them loved you, all of them hurt you. All of them tried to give you the best of what they had, but none of you came out unscathed.”  
“Such is life?” Pandora asked.  
“Such is love,” Remus said.  
Pandora sighed.  
“I understand. I must use what I can of the best they did, and as for the worst…” she said.  
“It won’t sort out overnight, but you’ll sort it,” Remus said. “Now, let’s get your things in order. Class begins on Monday.”  
Remus sat with Pandora on the floor of Ravenclaw Common Room, sorting her school supplies. He had also brought not only her uniform, but Muggle clothes to wear on weekends.  
“You’re more than welcome to spend your weekends with Sirius and I. Harry will like that very much,” Remus said.  
“How is he? Has he recovered completely from the Glacies charm? I wish I could reach out to him, as he did to me. He once spoke to me in my thoughts,” Pandora said.  
A look appeared in Remus’s eyes, as if he had just remembered something.  
“It is not difficult, when one is connected by the chord. Merely focus on Harry, how he makes you feel, when he is near,” Remus said.  
Pandora closed her eyes. She smelled freshly overturned earth, and wet grass. She saw Harry, wearing a tshirt and jeans, holding a watering can, and watering an herb garden. He looked serene and focused, and had no idea that she was near. She came closer, and brushed her lips against his cheek.  
“Pandora,” he said, and his green eyes grew bright.  
She waved, and then withdrew her consciousness.  
When she blinked, she saw the common room and Remus, once again. She caught her breath.  
“That was…” Pandora had no words.  
Remus smiled knowingly.  
“I used to speak to your father, that way. We were also bound by a red chord. That’s how I knew that he had left this world. I could no longer see it, no longer feel his thoughts, or see his dreams.” Remus said.  
“But…you are my uncle’s…dear friend,” Pandora said.  
“Yes. Its complicated. We had long been friends. After Drakenberg, the Coven war, and the loss of Regulus, our feelings deepened,” Remus said.  
“You must have known my father well,” Pandora said. “Were you hurt, when he began to love my mother, and married her?”  
“No. I understood. They were betrothed. And your mother was very understanding of how we felt. There were no hard feelings,” Remus said. “In fact, I was very fond of her.”  
“My uncle says that he went mad,” Pandora said.  
“There was immense pressure on Regulus to lead your family, after Sirius was banished. He was a man of science, he loved study, and knowledge. Your grandparents wanted to preserve the traditions to which they were accustomed, and joined with others of their generation to impress heavily upon the young that these traditions were worth fighting and dying for. He was torn, and he chose wrongly, but to preserve his family. That was your father-he never quite knew his individual worth. It was easy for him to believe there was a cause or purpose greater than himself, because no matter who loved him, how much, he didn’t feel worthy,” Remus said. “He was a gentle soul, Pandora. I loved him.”  
She squeezed his hand. She could feel just how much Remus had loved her father. She appreciated his honesty.  
She hugged him, and said, “Thank you for everything, Mr. Lupin.”  
“Er, well, actually….it’s Dr.,” he said. “I’m a Healer, in the village.”  
“Oh! You never mentioned!” Pandora said. “Dr. Lupin.”

The students returned to the castle on Sunday evening. The Ravenclaw students proved not to be the most robustly social bunch, rather a collection of solitary ramblers who were buried in homework, study, or personal reading. If they registered Pandora as a new face among them, they were very subtle about it and she didn’t feel in the least harassed. However, she did feel ignored. She was used to a small circle in the Vale, and though they might vex each other they would never ignore one another.  
‘They’re always like that, Ravenclaws: heads in the air. Come find me,’ Harry said, his thoughts blooming in her mind as she stood by the oriel window, overlooking the mountains. She could feel an echo of his presence, a warmth as though he was standing behind her. She yearned for it to be so.  
‘I’d much rather read about the Goblin Rebellion of 1676,’ she thought back, teasingly. She felt his laughter! His thoughts were laughing, and it rippled through her body.  
‘You and Hermione can talk about that-no one else knows anything about it,’ he rejoined. She felt his eagerness to see her, it was almost anxiety. She sent him a soothing reassurance that it would be soon.  
‘How about the Herbology greenhouse?’ Harry asked.  
‘We don’t have the best luck with greenhouses, do we?’ she rejoined.  
‘Let’s change our luck,’ he said.  
‘All right, I’ll find it,’ Pandora promised.  
“Miss Black!” said a familiar voice that Pandora couldn’t place.  
She turned around to see a girl with wavy dark hair, attractively thick eyebrows, and deep set light blue eyes. She was wearing a Muggle jumper and jeans, as was Pandora (it felt thrillingly indecent! So tight but mobile!), and looked at her with a friendly smile.  
Pandora took a minute to remember her name, and then it sprang to her.  
“Miss Beverley!” she said, the girl laughed delightedly, and they embraced.  
Cressida Beverley was from the Vale, as well, and had been allowed to study since she was 12. It was not something Pandora had heard spoken of very much, because it was so strongly disapproved of. They had been playmates when they were younger, and the children were much thrown together, but as they got older their sets became more strategically arranged by their parents’ alliances.  
“It is delightful to see you here! How ever did you convince your family to let you come to school?” Cressida asked.  
“I’ve been rather blown about by fortune, and landed here,” Pandora said.  
“Wonderful! However it came about, its good to see a familiar face. What subjects are you here for? Advanced Potions, or Herbology?” Cressida asked.  
“Everything,” Pandora said.  
“Ambitious!” Cressida said.  
For the first time, Pandora felt daunted. Asking Snape questions during a one-on-one lesson, messing about with a wand and things she had found in books, was different to being a student. She looked around at the students in the common room-they knew each other, they knew themselves, and they knew Hogwarts. She didn’t feel like she belonged.  
“Is it?” Pandora said.  
“You were always clever, you’ll do fine. The thing is, to understand the intention of each branch of study. Magic is a puzzle being solved, and each branch of study wants to solve it in different ways. Astronomy and Astrology concern themselves with the stars. Alchemy, Potions, and Herbology deal with the Earth’s materials. Charms and Transfiguration deal with invisible energies, and of course, there is Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Cressida said.  
“What would you say that deals with? From what angle is it trying to ‘solve’ the enigma of magic?” Pandora said.  
Cressida looked around, as if she didn’t want to be overheard, and then with a thoughtful look she said, slowly, “I know your mother was an alchemist, so I think you can understand…that the materials of this world are neither light nor dark. Rain waters, but it floods. Fire clears, but it engulfs. So on, you know. Everything is either/or. All of our studies can be used to heal the world, or to harm it. Some of us may well find our calling in defending the world from those who harness the darkness. Even those of us not in the fray may at least have need to defend ourselves, from the darkness. Defense Against the Dark Arts’ purpose is to recognize how familiar materials may be dangerous, in the wrong hands.”  
Pandora took this in. Cressida was clearly a serious student. She looked forward to more conversations such as this one, substantive and thought provoking. But, at present what she wanted more than anything was to get to the greenhouse and see Harry. As if sensing that she wanted the conversation to end, Cressida hinted that she had a huge exam on the Vedic Zodiac for Astrology.  
Ravenclaw: where it seemed perfectly acceptable to say, ‘I am going to go read now’, politely, and she’d just had a friendly chat about the nature of good and evil: Pandora was sure she would like it there!  
“Locus: Greenhouse,” she said in her thoughts.  
Pandora found it was not always convenient to say a spell out loud, but it was just as efficacious to think it. She felt a small throbbing at her temples, like a headache coming on, but it left, and she found the new knowledge she had conjured, the way to the greenhouse. She would have to take the opposite door out of the common room than the way she had come, but she knew how, now, and so was not worried.  
Pandora entered a corridor, and was greeted by the sight of notable Ravenclaws who’d once been educated at Hogwarts: professors, headmasters, Guild Members, authors, adventurers, inventors, witches and wizards of various skin colors and genders, all united, as Professor Sinistra had said, by the endless quest for knowledge.  
She was startled to see a portrait of her mother. Her whole body, her bones and blood, recognized this woman she had never known. Not one word she had ever uttered lived in Pandora’s memory, and as for her character, it was a patchwork sewn of others’ generalized recollections. Narcissa revered her, Rosmerta remembered her steely resolve, Professor Snape so fatally worshipped her he’d transferred years of futile affection to Pandora, tried to shape her into an alchemical genius like her. No one had ever spoken ill of her mother. They only said good things. But, they could not give their platitudes and praise, remembrances and affection blood and breath. They were not the living Ada Black.  
Nor was this portrait, but it was closer than Pandora had ever come to standing before her. Her mother’s hair, like Pandora’s before the fire, was long, dark, and wildly curly, but her skin was a few shades darker. Her eyes were dark and bright, like a volcanic stone with a black glass luster, cradling fire, where Pandora’s were the penetrating blue-gray of her father’s family, the Blacks. Ada wore a curious expression, and an expressive but faint smile. She stood against a navy blue background in a silver dress, painted so skillfully that it had the luster of silk. Like her skin, it looked as if it would have texture beneath her touch if she reached out. Ada Black was an arresting beauty, regal and alert, with intelligence in her eyes, and the facsimile of her form carried an echo of the aura she must have had in life. Pandora understood now, what her mother’s friends and relatives had not been able to put into words. She felt desperate to be closer to her. But, that was impossible.  
She touched the canvas, and felt only layers of paint. She felt the tickle of something on her shoulders, and realized that her hair had grown back, completely. It was as long and full as it had been before her Ignis charm. She looked long into her mother’s eyes-she was sure she had seen some alteration in their expression. She couldn’t look away, and fell into a gaze so deep that the object before her doubled. She shook herself out of her reverie, and continued to the greenhouse.  
Like Madam Buttershaw’s orchid house, when she entered she was greeted by moist air and the smell of breathing plants, pulpy and green. The plants were even more plentiful, and not as ornamental-they had fascinating apendages like tubers and teeth, and some made ominous hissing noises.  
Harry stepped out from behind a trellis growing a fearsomely red vine of some sort. He was smiling at the sight of her, in that way she had come to depend on. If he was so happy, then whatever else was going on couldn’t be so bad, at all, she felt. He stood calmly, his hands in the pocket of his black slacks. He wore a school sweater and tie, and Pandora realized her vision had come true: they were both at school.  
“Your hair!” he said. “It came back in!”  
“After I touched my mother’s portrait,” she said.  
“There’s a portrait of your mum, here?” he asked.  
“Yes, in the Ravenclaw Tower,” she said.  
“Does it talk?” he asked. “some do, some don’t, you know?”  
“No, unfortunately. I would have loved to talk to her. I hardly know what I would say. She was….she looked like a queen. Hippolyta, of the Amazons, or Cassiopeia, the Queen of Ethiopia! People say I look like her, I truly do not,” Pandora said, in awe. “He was in love with her. Professor Snape. He loved my mother.”  
“He had a funny way of showing it, going by how he treated you,” Harry said.  
“Yes,” Pandora agreed. “But, I can see how she could inspire that sort of love in people. Love that never dies, and will go to any length to come to life again. Love that drives one to madness. My father went mad for love of her, too. She had a powerful presence. I felt it, and….”  
Pandora gestured to her hair. Something about the way her mother’s energy affected her had accelerated the recovery of her hair.  
“It is pretty amazing. She must have been quite a witch,” Harry said.  
“I know in my heart that she would be glad to see me at school. I’m…a little scared,” Pandora said.  
“Scared? Why?” Harry asked.  
“What if I can’t thrive here?” Pandora asked.  
“Pandora, you fought for this, and you won. Maybe Remus is right, and I get into too many duels…but, they have taught me one thing. When you win, it feels damn good,” Harry said.  
Pandora laughed. “Well, yes, of course, considering the alternative!”  
“Right!” Harry said. “So, what’s the alternative? If you weren’t at Hogwarts, where would you be?”  
“Well, I suppose…I’d be married to Draco, and living amongst Death Eaters at Malfoy Manor. Or, I’d be married to Professor Snape, a fugitive from Voldemort, travelling hither and yon in pursuit of alchemy, hoping he never caught up with me,” Pandora said.  
“My parents died on the run from him. That’s no sort of life,” Harry said.  
Her heart flared with tender sympathy for him.  
“Instead, you’re at school, where you wanted to be,” Harry said.  
“I tried to be like the other girls, and read romantic novels by Mrs Featherstone, to learn feminine graces and be pleasing. But, I would always find myself drawn to my uncle’s library, and Draco’s school books. I would…get fascinated by one topic or another, and draw up a little curriculum for myself. I always thought it was my own secret, that I did a good job of blending in. Then, it became unbearable to pretend,” Pandora said.  
“Now, you don’t have to,” Harry said. “You should never have to feel bad about who you really are, Dora.”  
Pandora kissed his cheek. Harry blushed. She loved seeing the rosy shade rise beneath his fair skin.  
“How was your weekend? I saw you in the garden,” she said.  
“My punishment,” Harry said. “Sirius isn’t pleased with me, so I did a little punitive landscaping.”  
“Rather lenient, considering the penalty for public dueling is to have one’s wand snapped,” Pandora said. Harry flinched at the prospect.  
“Yeah, considering he’s a member of the Guild, he took it easy on me,” Harry said.  
“You sound so contemptuous when you say Member of the Guild,” Pandora pointed out.  
Harry sighed. “I just never thought I’d see Sirius trying to reason with people who won’t outright condemn Riddle. The Guild is soft on Dark Magic. Its as if some people are holding their breath, biding their time to see which way the wind will blow, and if Riddle does come back, they’re willing to work with him. Sirius knows that. Why does he bother?”  
“There is something to be said for trying to prevent conflict with diplomacy,” Pandora said.  
“During the first war, him and my parents, and Remus fought. They took their chances, did what they had to do, and they knew the score. Why try to reason now?” Harry said.  
“Reason is our gift as human beings! Through this capacity, which other creations do not have, we are able to emulate the creator who made us and give life to what we dream, to devise inventions and cures, and answers to our conflicts. If history does not attest to every time war was avoided through reason, that is because reason is as much our nature as breathing, and war is more lengthily expounded on because its an aberration,” Pandora said.  
She realized she had said far too much. She had behaved as if she were in the library with Professor Snape during one of her lessons at Malfoy Manor, and they were having a long and winding conversation spun out from a question she’d had. But, Hogwarts was not a private schoolroom, she could not be so free. And, Harry might think she was disagreeing with him. He looked thoughtful, and then Pandora was received to see his face settle into affectionate awe.  
“You’re brilliant,” he said.  
“No, truly…I shouldn’t have spoken that way,” Pandora said.  
Harry laughed. “Pandora, this isn’t the Vale! Its okay. I want to know what you think, that’s why I told you. And, you’re right. I don’t think I’ve been so easy to talk to since the Dark Trial. That’s what Riddle called his version of the Triwizard Tournament. Sometimes, I feel too much,” he said. “I haven’t been fair to Sirius and Remus. When Sirius’s father died, and he took his seat in the Guild, I felt betrayed. I admired him, I saw him as a Resistance hero. He’d given all to the cause, he’d been imprisoned in Drakenberg for his beliefs, I thought he was selling out to the same people who declared an inquiry of the Tournament ‘inconclusive’ because they didn’t want to outright condemn a former Magister. Riddle was a bloody dictator, and a murderer, but some people still feel like they can’t speak against the office, or their Coven. But, maybe you’re right, and Sirius is still doing his bit to preserve democracy, just through reason and diplomacy,” He said.  
“Riddle killed your parents, and kidnapped and tried to kill you. Harry, when Neville Longbottom told me these things, my entire outlook on the world I was raised in changed. How could my Uncle follow such a man, and insist on our loyalty to him, as well? Professor Sinistra told me that a coven should be a community of people of like minds…but, no one can force my mind to be aligned to their’s if their beliefs are abhorrent. Dark magic, carried out in blood….no, it horrifies me,” Pandora said.  
Harry hugged her.  
“Pandora, Riddle possessed Ginny. That’s why she attacked us at the Buttershaws. He tried to use her to kill me,” Harry said. “But, you could have been hurt, just because we were together. It shook me up. I couldn’t save Cedric, the other boy who was running the Tournament, and I didn’t do you much good, either. If you hadn’t grabbed my wand and cast that Fire…”  
“Good God! Is Miss Weasley all right?” Pandora said.  
“She’s not back at school. She’s recovering with her mum, at home. Mrs. Weasley is a healer, so she couldn’t be in better hands,” Harry said. “But….I’m angry, Dora. Angry that you and Gin could’ve been hurt, because of some bloody prophecy.”  
“Prophecy?” Pandora asked.  
Harry looked haunted. Pandora’s heart ached. She wanted to not only hold him close, but embrace him so closely they were a chemical wedding of conjoined elements. She never wanted him to feel alone.  
He sighed. “Remus and Sirius told me, this weekend, why Voldemort wants me dead. I was born under the sign of the phoenix, on the night the comet passed…and to him, that means I’ll defeat him one day. Take his place. I don’t know what that means…he wants me to join him…does that mean I’ll go Dark one day? I don’t want that. Dumbledore said he taught a boy, who said he’d never go Dark, then he grew up, and his wife died, and he went Dark to try to….”  
“What? To try to what?” Pandora asked.

Harry looked at Dora, at her bountiful curls, soft brown skin, and soulful gray eyes. He realized as he spoke that Dumbledore’s story and Sirius’s story about his brother were the same: the young student who swore he would never become a Dark Wizard, and the wife he had lost, had gone Dark to restore, were Regulus and Ada Black, Dora’s parents. He was looking at their child. Dora’s own parents were proof that any wizard was susceptible to Dark Magic’s seduction. His soul rang with fear as if a bell was being chimed through it.  
“Harry, do tell me what’s wrong?” she said, in her soft, refined voice, which was threaded with love and concern.  
If he lost her, would he go mad with love and grief, as Regulus Black had? 

“To…bring her back,” Harry whispered. “Dumbledore’s student turned to Gray and Dark magic to try to bring his wife back from the dead.”  
“My father,” Pandora deduced.  
“I suspect so,” Harry admitted.  
“That was their story, Harry. It doesn’t have to be your’s,” Pandora said. “When I looked at my mother’s portrait, today, I realized that I’m not like her. She had a power over people, a power that resided within herself but had a deep impact on those around her. It wasn’t just beauty, or talent…anyway, I know that I do not have this. And, I do not truly resemble her, either. The people around me, who thought they saw her in me, saw only what they expected and wished to see.”  
“I’m sure there’s some truth to that, but you are beautiful and talented in your own right, Pandora. You saved my life!” Harry said.  
Pandora smiled. “Hmm…does that mean you are forever in my debt?”  
“I hope so,” Harry said.  
“We have our lives to live, before us. Don’t let the shadows of the past frighten you, Harry,” Pandora said.  
“He won’t stop, Dora. He’ll try again,” Harry said.  
“And, now is my chance to run, if I like?” She asked.  
“There’s no shame in that. My parents fought him, then they ran from him,” Harry said.  
“No, dear-they ran to get you as far from him as they could, not to preserve their own lives,” Pandora said.  
“But, I can’t expect that from you. I don’t want to put you in that position,” Harry said.  
“Fate brought me to you, and you to me. I won’t leave you,” She said.  
Harry kissed her. Pandora, the taste and feel of her, was his whole world, a sun in his arms. Light filled his belly, and his senses were borne along on an ocean of her sighs and moans as he abandoned her full, soft lips and rained kisses on her neck.  
“You’ll leave marks,” she said.  
“It’s boarding school-everyone’s used to that,” Harry said.  
Dora laughed, and her laugh turned into a moan as Harry continued to kiss her neck. Her bosom pressed warmly against him, but was out of reach beneath her fluffy sweater, unless he slipped his hand under it, but that seemed invasive. Anyway, the sounds she made as he kissed her neck were beautiful to him. If his, Dean’s, Seamus’s, and Ron’s late night symposiums on the topic of girls had any accuracy, then all girls had a certain spot that, when attention was shown it, aroused them beyond the point of demure restraint. This place on her neck seemed to be it, and every noise she emitted gave Harry a thrill of victory.  
They lay on the greenhouse floor, and Harry divested himself of his sweater, which was beginning to feel overpowering. He fell to kissing Dora again, she opened her arms and embraced him, pulling his shirt out of his slacks so that her hands could sail up and down his back. It felt so loving and intimate. Harry’s skin and senses went into a state of pleasant shock, overwhelmed with stimuli, and he reveled in it. He needed to forget Voldemort, the arena at Drakenberg, the light leaving Cedric’s eyes, the collective awareness of the Death Eater spectators, Voldemort’s voice, which seemed to have another voice beneath it, a demonic timbre which shook his bones.  
There were times Harry felt like Voldemort was watching him, and he could hardly move beneath his gaze. He didn’t feel that way, now, he never felt that way with Pandora.  
“Harry…” she said, and by her tone he knew that she was drawing attention to his body’s current state. They were so close, he could hardly avoid pressing against her. Her voice held both warning, and tender awe. Her every move beneath him, the heat and minute shifting of her body, made his own even more sensitized.  
“Sorry,” he said breathily.  
“Don’t apologize…it only means that you desire me,” she said.  
“Yes,” Harry moaned, as she kissed his collarbone and the bit of chest accessible when she unbuttoned his shirt. “I do, Dora, I…” so many words threatened to fall from his lips, but instead he emitted a breathy sigh that seemed to rise from his belly.  
She soothingly stroked his neck, and ran her hands up, through his hair. Pandora laced her fingers through Harry’s. The red chord flared between their palms. It grew as they stretched it, and when they brought their palms back together, they saw its red glow.  
“I want to touch you…” Pandora said, and she knew he meant she wanted to touch him where he most craved and needed it.  
Harry softly kissed her.  
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Harry said.  
“Why ever not?” Pandora said.  
“Dora…I need you too much right now. You’re so gentle, so good, you make me feel so happy. I won’t be able to stop. I know I won’t be able to,” Harry said.  
“Nor will I,” Dora said passionately.  
Frissons flared through Harry’s body, at the mere knowledge that they both wanted this.  
“I want it to be beautiful, Dora. Not in a rush in the greenhouse,” Harry said.  
“All right. We have time, don’t we? That’s what this means,” She said, referring to the red chord, which burned in their hands like a tiny, new star. 

Pandora and Harry righted their clothes, and left the greenhouse, walking hand in hand. They entered the castle, and went to the Great Hall. Pandora had been in many grand houses in the Vale, but the Great Hall’s grandeur put them all to shame with its subtle mix of magic and antiquity coming together to create a venerable impression. Its portraits and tapestries were lit by the candles that floated overhead, and beyond them was the ceiling which reflected the sky’s mood, star strewn indigo crowned by a golden moon.  
Pandora sat at the Ravenclaw table, Harry at the table for Gryffindors. She sat with Cressida Beverley, who did not disappoint her hopes that their further association would be an intellectually stimulating one. They discussed the hieroglyphic language of ancient Egypt, where Pandora’s family claimed their ancestors to have been from, and the various claims made about Egyptian magic, even by Muggles.  
“I say, it must be strong stuff!” Cressida said. “But, how can we ever know what was true Egyptian magic, and what is a fanciful forgery believed in less illuminated times? Take the myth of Hermes Trismegistus-did ever such a character really live?”  
“The Tabula Smaragdina!” Pandora said.  
“Yes, that’s the one,” Cressida said.  
“I have been studying it,” Pandora said.  
“You have a copy!” Cressida said.  
“It was my mother’s,” Pandora said.  
A handsome, brown skinned Indian boy, with dark fire eyes and lustrous dark hair interjected, “Impossible!”  
“Pandora, this is Somachandra Singh, but I refer to him as Doubting Thomas, unless I can think of something worse,” Cressida said.  
Pandora laughed, and had to close her mouth tightly to hold in her bite of mashed potato.  
The handsome boy played at looking wounded, and said, “Now, hold on. I only argue for common sense. Our Miss Beverley is prone to mystic excesses of wild belief.”  
“Common sense is a valiant cause, but Miss Beverley takes the day. I have a copy of the Emerald Tablet, I read it quite frequently, why is this so impossible?” Pandora said.  
“Then, I’m sorry, but what you have is just a reconstruction from the Middle Ages. All the true ancient knowledge is long lost,” Singh said.  
“Pandora’s family smuggled a fair bit of ancient knowledge out of Alexandria, you know, before Cleopatra fell,” Cressida said.  
“Just a family story,” Pandora qualified.  
“Ah, your family were court wizards, too? Legend has it we Singhs were given patronage by the Mughals, under Shah Jahan. He was tolerant of all religions, for an autocrat, anyway, and of magic. Hardly could have completed the Taj Mahal without it, I’d suspect,” Somachandra said. “Most royalty, you know, availed themselves of wizards until the late 19th century. Industrialism was the fad, made magic look barbaric by comparison.”  
“Do you think the empires and monarchies of the world could have prevented being violently overturned during the World Wars, through magical means?” Pandora asked.  
Singh’s eyes flared with excitement. “That’s a weighty one! No, I don’t think the World Wars could have been prevented, through magical means. Nothing can stand in the way of human nature,” he said. “Where have you been hiding, Miss Black? Finally, someone I can have a decent conversation with.”  
Cressida looked cross. “Oh, stuff it! You’re just sore because you aren’t very good at Astrology,” he said. “so, he plays the man of logic to overcompensate.”  
Pandora was nervous at first, but she gathered that this was just their banter.  
“What is your strongest subject, Miss Black?” Singh asked.  
“Hmm…I’d say Potions, currently,” she said, going with the safe answer-it was the only subject she had not studied at the amateur level. “And…Alchemy.”  
“Alchemy? Well!” Singh said, looking impressed. “That was Snape, both classes,but he only taught Alchemy to Potions students with a grade of Outstanding. But he’s left now. Not sure who’s replacing him, we’ll find out tomorrow.”  
“Maybe he’s achieved the Lapis, and has to go into hiding,” Cressida said.  
“The paradox of the Great Work, Miss Black-the alchemist who achieves the key to immortality must leave his life behind, disappear into hiding to protect it,” Singh said.  
“On second thought, Professor Snape would hardly need a Lapis-I always heard he was a vampire,” Cressida amended.  
“Vampires?” Singh said, as he speared more asparagus with his fork, “Cressida, I do hope you never change. Your wild theories make my day!”  
Pandora liked Somachandra. He was a little superior, but she could tell he was highly intelligent and wanted someone to toss ideas around with, but hadn’t found anyone with a similar frame of mind. She was intrigued to know him better, and glad she had found new friends in him and Cressida.  
She looked over at the Gryffindor table, the most crowded and the noisiest. She found Harry, and as his green eyes met her’s steadily she felt like Hogwarts was her home.  
“Dora!!” Lucy said, running over in her boys’ uniform. “I have a message from Professor Dumbledore! He’d like to see you in his office.”  
“Oh, yes, of course,” Dora said. She said bye to Singh and Mis Beverley, whom she felt very warmly towards, already. She could feel Harry’s curiosity in her own mind, and sent him assurance that she would talk to him later.  
As they walked to Dumbledore’s office, Pandora told Lucy about seeing her mother’s portrait.  
“It makes sense. She was a healer, so her energy is still at work, healing. Your mother’s memory healed you,” Lucy said.  
“That’s remarkable. She was a great witch,” Pandora said.  
“Don’t say it as if you won’t be one! You will! I’ve always thought you were more than just a silly girl. Well, all girls are more than what people think they are, and what people think a girl is and should be,” Lucy said.  
“How did you figure that out before me?” Pandora asked.  
“Well, Dora, I was paying attention!” Lucy said.  
“Fair enough!” Dora laughed.  
She knocked on the door to Dumbledore’s office.  
“Miss Black, Mr. Fanshawe, thank you for coming,” he said graciously, and welcomed them in.  
“Miss Black,” Professor Dumbledore said, “It has come to my attention that you are without a wand, a most vital instrument in the study of magic.”  
“There was a bit of misadventure with my old wand,” She lied, and immediately felt distaste at her own dishonesty.  
Dumbledore looked knowingly into her eyes, and said, “Severus made you a lot of promises, and hurt you greatly. Perhaps he knew no other way to become closer to you, which he wished to be. I have been a student, looking admiringly at my teacher, and feeling that affection grow to a most passionate idolatry. I have also been a teacher, watching my student come to understand the lessons I most dearly wished to impart, and feeling closer to them than anyone else in the world because of the knowledge we share. Life has dealt Severus many hard blows, with but scant tenderness mixed with its slings and arrows. This does not excuse him, but it has shaped him.”  
“I don’t think he drugged me to kiss me. I think he meant to serve me….and then his darker instincts won,” Pandora said.  
Dumbledore nodded. “When we can accept that we all host better angels and demons, alike, the war between the two will cease. What we think we are, we act on,” he said.  
“You mean, Professor Snape thinks of himself as bad, so he does bad things?” Lucy interjected.  
“Precisely, Mr. Fanshawe,” Dumbledore said.  
“He promised you, I believe, that he would teach you how to create a wand?” he added, and Dora nodded.  
“This is a sacred act, a rite of attunement performed between a Master and Apprentice. There is hardly a deeper bond, in our world, which is why it is so uncommon. It can be dangerous to love one person above all others. That level of devotion is the emperor of vulnerabilities,” Dumbledore said.  
Dora was taken aback-this is the life Snape had envisioned for her, and himself. She had thought of him often, in the two days since he had left Hogwarts. His teachings had opened her mind, his actions had caused her distress.  
“He should have told me how important it was,” she said. “He seemed affronted that I was using a secondhand wand, and said I shouldn’t take any more charity from the Malfoys.”  
“Charity! Dora, no! We love you!” Lucy protested.  
Dora hugged her. “And I you, Cousin. All of you. You, me, Aunt, Uncle, and Draco, will be together again, I promise.”  
“I think the Professor saw your circumstances through a lens of his experiences and beliefs, and wanted to rescue you,” Dumbledore said.  
Severus had seen her as her mother’s daughter, as a charity orphan, as a young and fresh girl who looked at him with admiration and respect, and he’d written a story for them. Dora knew that life wasn’t written and acted out, as if by actors on a stage. Life was writing itself, in each moment.  
“You can still make the wand of an apprentice. But, you won’t be bound to a Master,” Dumbledore said.  
He stepped gracefully aside, and arrayed on his desk, Dora saw vials of sand, feathers, shriveled skins and claws, and wooden capsules that looked as if they fitted together: all the ingredients to make a wand.  
Her hand trembled. She felt drawn to reach out, but she didn’t know what to touch first.  
“Feel, and let the materials choose you,” Dumbledore said.  
She gravitated towards a vial of crystalline purple powder.  
“Amethyst. It cleanses, heals, and reveals secrets,” he said, and nodded. She selected what she knew to be an Alkonost feather, thinking of her kiss with Harry in the Menagerie, and Dumbledore helped her to fit the ingredients into the wooden capsules, and fasten it.  
“Your wand,” he said, and Dumbledore, Dora, and Lucy looked at it proudly.  
“Try it!” Lucy said.  
Pandora waved her wand, and aimed it at a plant in Dumbledore’s windowsill.  
“Cresco!” she said, and the plant grew red roses with a golden center.  
Lucy clapped.


	18. Chapter 18

Students in robes flooded the corridors, on their way back to their Coven’s towers. Pandora and Lucy let the collective inertia of the crowd carry them, and then broke away from it at the sight of Harry. He was talking to Ron, Draco’s lover, and a girl with brown skin and curly hair with an auburn brown tint. This excited Pandora-she had seldom met anyone with brown skin, like herself, in the Vale. It made her uncomfortable, in a way she never had a name for.  
“Dora!” Harry said happily. “I saw you leave dinner early, is everything all right?”  
“Better than all right!” Lucy said. “Look! She has a wand!”  
Pandora pulled it from her blue-lined Ravenclaw robes.  
“Your own wand,” Harry marveled. Dora smiled, glad he knew how much this meant to her.  
“Now, you’re ready for class! It will be essential for Transfiguration and Charms. Did you study those independently? Harry tells me you had a private tutor,” said the girl with auburn-brown curls.  
“Hermione, do you ever wait till you’re properly introduced to someone to ask them their grade point average?” asked Ron.  
“Do you ever wait till my dinner’s settled to get on my nerves?” Hermione rejoined.  
“See what I put up with? With a best friend like her, who needs Slytherins?” Ron said.  
“Oy!” Lucy said, affronted.  
“Ahem…Ptolemy,” Harry said pointedly. Lucy looked at the yellow lined sleeves of her Hufflepuff robes, and remembered that she was supposed to be posing as a Hufflepuff relation of Maurice’s, so she could hardly get offended at digs at Slytherin.  
“Anyway, Harry would be the one to introduce us all, since he knows both sets of us,” Hermione said.  
“Thanks, ‘Mione. Dora, Ptolemy, these are my best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Ron, ‘Mione, this is Pandora Black, and Ptolemy Fanshawe,” Harry said.  
Dora and Ron smiled at each other with bemused conspiratoriality.  
“What is it?” Harry asked. They seemed to have a secret together.  
“Me and Crumpet, here, have known each other all our lives!” Ron said.  
“Crumpet?” Hermione repeated.  
“Its my nickname at home,” Dora explained.  
“Yeah. See, my mum’s a healer in the village, she used to come up to the manor and look after Madam Malfoy’s chronic migraines,” Ron explained. “Me and Gin would come with her.”  
“How is Ginny? What happened to her at Buttershaw Hall….” Pandora said.  
“A terrible night," Ron said, and nodded darkly. “She’s resting up, with Mum.”  
“Then she is in no better hands!” Pandora said. Ron didn’t seem inclined to say more about the state of Ginny, and she turned to Hermione and said, “Miss Granger, how I have longed to meet you! Harry never ceases to sing your praises, and I have you to thank for my Founding Day gift, I hear.”  
“It’s the least I could do-left to his own devices, Harry might have given you the world’s largest Chocolate Frog!” Hermione said.  
“What’s wrong with that?” Harry said.  
They all laughed.  
“How do you like Ravenclaw?” Hermione said.  
“I think I will enjoy the reflective atmosphere,” Pandora said. “The common room will be excellent for studying.”  
“And, off they go…” Ron said to Harry.  
“Well, you’ll be pleased to know that Ravenclaw and Gryffindor have at least two double classes, tomorrow: Defense Against the Dark Arts, and History of Magic,” Hermione said.  
“I’ll get to witness you in action, Miss Granger! But, I was hoping it would be Alchemy that we shared. In fact, I have an alchemical matter I have yearned to put before you,” Pandora said.  
“Oh, we can talk about that anytime. I’m all ears!” Hermione said.  
“I dunno, you’re more like all hair,” Ron said, and held his hands up framing Hermione’s very large hair. She shot him an annoyed look.  
“Well, you see, I was given an alchemical treatise that once belonged to my mother, called the Tabula Smaragdina,” Pandora said.  
Hermione’s brown eyes lit up. “The Emerald Tablet, by Hermes Trismegistus! Of course, there never properly was a wizard called Hermes Trismegistus, he was a composite pen name. Many authors probably contributed to the manuscript over the centuries. It describes the four elements, and how they may come together to form the Lapis: the alchemical object, the Filius Philosophorum.”  
“The Alchemical Child,” Pandora said.  
“Indeed. I would love to take a look, Miss Black,” Hermione said.  
“Pandora,” Pandora allowed.  
“Hermione,” Hermione rejoined.  
“Wonderful! Well, Hermione, the matter isn’t the tablet-I can get by with the illustrations, which describe the stages of alchemy,” Pandora said.  
“Rubedo-the burning. Albedo-the whitening. Negredo-the decay, and the Chemical Wedding,” Hermione said.  
“That’s when the opposites, the White Queen and Red King, come together, right?” Harry said.  
Dora’s heart was warm-he remembered what she told him in the Astronomy Tower.  
Hermione looked excited, Ron looked astonished and a little bemused.  
“Yes, Harry, precisely,” Hermione said.  
“Well, that’s all plain enough. It’s my Mother’s notes which baffle me. Some of them are lines from Muggle poems, like one by Milton I found one day: ‘If I cannot pull down Heaven, I will raise Hell,’” Pandora said.  
“Ah, ‘Paradise Lost’. That could allude to the alchemical principle that what is above, is below, referring to dualistic, parallel opposites that mirror each other,” Hermione said.  
Pandora considered this, and then continued, “But, some are Runes, and some are a Latin I don’t recognize and a French that I can just about manage, but may be a southern dialect or an anglicized form.”  
“From the time of the Norman Conquest, maybe?” Hermione theorized.  
“Or later, a courtly form from around the time Caxton began printing,” Pandora said.  
“Your tutor wasn’t shy of teaching you where the magical and Muggle worlds overlapped,” Hermione said. “Strange for the Vale.”  
“My tutor was….a complicated man,” Pandora said.  
Hermione sensed not to ask any more. “I’d be happy to take a look! Maybe we could meet up in the library on our free period.”  
“I’d be delighted,” Pandora said.  
“Well, that was bloody confusing,” Ron said.  
“Yeah, you lost me at the Norman Conquest,” Harry said.  
“Lost me long before that. You, Ptolemy?” Ron said.  
“How well used I am to Dora’s prattle,” Lucy said, provoking more laughter.  
Harry, Ron, and Hermione went up the staircase to Gryffindor Tower, Lucy to Hufflepuff, and Dora made her way to Ravenclaw.  
“I asked Sinistra if I could switch rooms!” Cressida said happily, meeting her in the common room. “She agreed, said it would help your transition.”  
“You have retained your uncanny knack at getting your way, that I recall from when we were children,” Pandora said.  
“I consider it an essential skill,” Cressida said.  
Pandora laughed. The girls changed into their night things. Pandora’s heart was warmed to see that Dr. Lupin had packed her a set of soft flannel pyjamas, in a soft baby pink color.  
“So, are you still going to be marrying Draco?” Cressida asked.  
“I…don’t think so,” Pandora asked.  
“Then, you are quite free!” Cressida said. “Oh, you know, not that there’s anything wrong with Draco…but, I ask you, who has the right? What gives our fathers, or our uncles or grandparents or anyone else the right to say, ‘This is who you will give your body to, this is how you will spend the rest of your life’. We are not to be sold. Women are people, we choose our destiny.”  
Pandora didn’t know what to say. Cressida’s words had captured the way she felt when her aunt’s plans for the Rosalia-day wedding to Draco began to be real. She had thought she’d dreamed of it all her life, but she felt a tightness in her chest and throat when they spoke of it. Then, of course, there was Snape, his plans that she would be a second edition of her mother, but in this version his lover, wife, and apprentice.  
Now, she realized that it was never their right to make these plans. Dora fell asleep, after a while, and began to dream of the alchemical illustrations in her mother’s book-dying kings with oak trees growing from their navel, mermaids with two tails lactating mother’s milk in oceans of mercury, phoenixes, dragons, and a labyrinth where the Red King and White Queen marry at the center, amidst golden hearted, red-petaled roses.  
Then, the scene changed…Snape’s lips were on her neck once again, but instead of a kiss she felt the hot, piercing pain of fangs stabbing her neck. She felt weak, and paralyzed, as he drank.  
“It’s all right, dear, he’s not here,” Cressida said, rushing to her side.  
Pandora gasped. ‘Harry!’ she thought. She felt the warmth of the red chord, flaring in her palm. She needed his smile, his well-meaning patience with her, she just needed the warmth of his shoulder against her arm.  
But, she was very glad of Cressida’s presence. With a few more deep breaths, she was able to focus.  
“Lux,” Cressida said, and pointed her wand at her lamp. Light flooded the room. Pandora felt exposed and vulnerable, the way she had at the Three Broomsticks.  
Cressida wrapped a throw blanket around her shoulders.  
“Who was he?” Cressida asked.  
“My tutor,” Pandora said. “Professor Snape.”  
“Snape? God, if I had known, Pandy! I never would have mentioned his name, back there, at dinner. I’m sorry,” Cressida said.  
“Its all right,” Pandora said. “Will I always have these dreams?”  
“No. You just have to believe that you’re safe, and you will heal,” Cressida said. Pandora looked into her eyes.  
The door burst open, and it was Harry and Hermione.  
“Pandora?” Harry said. He was wearing a Henley and plaid flannel pyjama pants. “I heard you. I felt you. Was is Snape? Is he here?”  
“No, no, I only had a dream,” Pandora said.  
“I know just what you need,” Hermione said. “Do you have a piece of paper?”  
Cressida took a page out of an exercise book, and handed it to Hermione. She wrote ‘Dulci Somnii’ on it, and tapped it with a quartz crystal that she pulled out of her pocket.  
“Slip it under your pillow,” Hermione said.  
Pandora did so. Harry sat beside her, in her bed.  
“There’s no way you’re going to sleep in her bed tonight, Harry Potter,” Cressida said.  
“Well, then, I’ll sleep on the floor,” Harry said casually, and settled in on Dora’s floor.  
“Effingo,” Cressida said, waving her wand over her blanket, and creating a duplicate. “And I’ll sleep in the common room.”  
“Nox,” Hermione said, and put out the lamp as she and Cressida withdrew.  
When the door closed, Pandora reached out to Harry and said, “Come up here.”  
“No. Gotta do this proper,” Harry said.  
“It will all be above board,” Pandora said. “I need you to keep me warm.”  
“How can I say no to that?” Harry said.  
“Ha! You can’t,” Pandora said.  
“All right, but…you know, sometimes guys can’t help their bodies…when they’re sleeping, and when they’re waking up in the morning…I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Harry said. She knew he meant that if they slept close, he may get an erection, and she would feel it.  
“Harry, it’s all right,” she said.  
“Dora, I don’t want to be anything like him. I don’t want to pressure you,” Harry said.  
“And that is what makes you different,” Pandora said.  
Pandora lay on her side, and Harry fitted against her body, warm and solid, thin but reassuring.  
“We can’t do this every time I have a nightmare,” Pandora said.  
“If Hermione’s charm works, you won’t have them anymore. But, magic can’t do all the work. When the fear comes back up, you have to face it, every time,” Harry said.  
“What did you fear? What did you have to face?” Pandora asked.  
“I was afraid that the orphanage would be broken into. It wasn’t such a nice neighborhood, we heard car alarms and gunshots, sometimes. I was afraid of these bullies that were there, sadistic motherfuckers who’d get the younger kids alone, and…do things to them. I was afraid to leave, actually,” Harry said.  
“After all that?” Pandora said.  
“I was afraid to trust Remus and Sirius. Afraid to believe that there was a whole secret world of wizards, a whole hidden country in another dimension…” Harry said. “So much had frightened me by the time the Dark Trial happened, that when Voldemort took me, I wasn’t afraid. Not as I was running the trial. Somehow, I knew I could survive it. But, Cedric didn’t. That’s what haunts me.”  
“Harry, how I wish it could be different. I hate that you have to be haunted,” Pandora said.  
“Every time you face fear, you’re less afraid,” Harry said.  
“Until there’s no fear left?” Pandora said.  
“There’s always a bit, which is healthy, I guess,” Harry said. “but, you’ll manage it. The worst of it won’t last forever.”  
“I felt him kissing me…I couldn’t breathe,” Pandora said.  
Harry made comforting noises, and stroked her side.  
“Just a dream, love,” Harry said.  
‘Love,’ she thought. He had never called her that, before.  
“Do you dream about Cedric? The boy who died?” Pandora said.  
“Yes. I dream about the Trial, and before…” Harry said.  
“Before? Was he your friend?” Pandora asked.  
“Sort of. We didn’t know each other well, but, during training for the Tournament…we got close,” Harry said. “we both loved to fly, you know, and we had the same feeling about the challenges in the Tournament: kind of afraid, kind of excited…I wanted to kiss him. I’ll always wish that I did. Does that…bother you?”  
“No,” Pandora said. “I’m just sorry that you lost him, that way. Another person stolen by Voldemort, from you.”  
“He was stolen from life, not from me,” Harry said. “I dreamed of kissing him, I’d wake up crying…”  
Pandora turned around.  
“Harry,” she said, and caressed his face comfortingly.  
She kissed him, as if to make up for the kiss he could not bestow on Cedric, who had not survived the Dark Trial. She could feel Harry’s pain and anguish, and his anguished love, churning in him like a growing storm in the belly of a cloud.  
“It will get better for you, too, Dora. Nothing hurts forever,” Harry murmured against Pandora’s lips.  
“Yes, love,” she said, calling him as he had called her. It felt right. For the second time in their lives, they fell asleep in the same bed.


	19. Chapter 19

“Wake up time! First class is at 7, fifteen minutes to shower!” Called Kashmira Singh, Somachandra’s twin sister, a prefect.  
She scanned Dora’s bed, and she frantically rushed to cover Harry. She could feel him curled up around her, warm and already familiar, but she gasped to find that she could not see him! Nor, it seemed, could Kashmira, because she went down the hall to wake up another Ravenclaw girl.  
Harry became visible once more.  
“How did you do that? A charm?” Pandora asked.  
“Nah,” he said. “Something I could always do. It came in handy at the orphanage. I told you, the older kids liked to get the younger kids alone, and do things to them. But, they couldn’t find me. And, when we stole. We had to steal, every day, from people on the street.”  
“That’s a rare natural ability,” Pandora said.  
“Well, it can’t help me make it to Charms on time, sadly. But, waking up with you was worth it,” Harry said. “What’s your first class?”  
“Transfiguration, Ravenclaw and Slytherin,” Pandora said.  
Harry kissed her. Pandora had never been able to properly imagine living as Draco’s wife, but she felt like she and Harry were husband and wife, in their own bed, kissing good morning before going off to their respective days. His fingers gently traced her jaw.  
“That’s why I want to do this proper,” Harry said, acknowledging her thoughts. “You’re it for me, Pandora. I know this has all happened fast, but the chord confirms it-its supposed to be us. So, I don’t want to rush the things that matter.”  
“Yes, love,” she said, breathily, and kissed him again. He was her air. She felt a shock of excitement as he caressed her bottom.  
“I thought you didn’t want to rush?” Pandora said.  
“Yeah…but those pyjamas. They just drive me a little mad,” Harry said.  
Pandora kissed him. He was air to her…but they needed to get to class.  
“You have to get back to Gryffindor Tower, my love,” Pandora said.  
“I know….” Harry sighed. “Right then.” He stood, and became invisible once more. It was rather jarring to see the door seemingly open itself.  
Pandora got out of bed, and made the bed. Remus had been kind enough to include some English lavender scented soaps in the supplies he brought her, and Pandora took a hot, steamy shower with them.

“Thermos,” she said, waving her new wand over body when she stepped back into her room, and her body and hair dried off. She put on her new school uniform. She had fantasized about wearing one, and now it was so.  
As she grabbed her bag to go, she heard fluttering wings. A raven pecked at her window, and she opened the window to let the bird in. It held an envelope in its mouth.  
She hoped it was from her aunt, or her uncle, but in the pit of her stomach, she knew that it wasn’t.  
The raven’s black eyes swept over her, as it handed her the letter. She accepted it, and looked at the bird’s feathers, which caught the light like a dark jewel, giving it a dark purple luster, and its fabulous eyes. She felt that the bird was memorizing her, and she wanted to give it both the chance to, and a similar regard, if ever they saw each other again.  
The moment was broken, and the bird flew away. Pandora opened the letter, and took out the parchment. The letter was a short one. It gave only a rune, and said,  
“ Think of this rune, as you write it. I will feel it, and come to you. Ever your servant, Severus Snape.”  
Dora looked at the rune. It was not a symbol she had ever seen before. She traced it with her finger. Snape had kept his promise, to tell her where and how to contact him. She didn’t know how to feel…how could she be afraid of him, and be gratified that he still cared for her, loathe him and think so often of his lessons, all at once? It was as if there were several different Severus Snapes, and she had known them all, but briefly, and was baffled by them all. Pandora folded the letter, and put it under her pillow. Would she ever write to him, or think of the Calling Rune? She could not see so far into the future. For now, she had to focus on Transfiguration.

She made it to the class just barely on time, one bubble in a tide of other rushing students.  
“Don’t get us points off, Miss Black,” Singh said, and grabbed her arm in a brotherly way, to help her pick up her pace.  
As they entered the class and chose seats on the Ravenclaw side, Cressida’s eyes flew to her.  
“Pandy! Are you better now, dear?” she said eagerly. Pandora nodded.  
Kashmira looked over and shushed them all. Somachandra made a face at her.  
The Slytherin side was mostly male, which didn’t surprise Pandora-the Vale was mostly Slytherin families. These were the cousins and brothers of her old friends in the Vale. A few boys she knew from balls, holiday gatherings, the sons of her Aunt’s and Uncle’s friends, looked over, surprised to see Pandora Black at Hogwarts. She could tell by the way they whispered and sniggered and nudged each other that they were remarking on the novelty of seeing so much of her legs.  
“Quiet,” said Professor McGonagall firmly. She was a tall, slender, formidable witch in a high collared black taffeta dress and a tall witch’s hat, eyeglasses perched low on her nose, her gray streaked black hair pulled into a bun. “Further talking will result in a loss of points to both Covens. Cease.”  
Pandora forgot about the lewd boys and focused her attention totally on McGonagall. She was the sort of instructor, she could tell, who demanded nothing short of undivided attention. For the next half hour, she lectured thoroughly on Glamours, magical concealment, and for the half hour after that they attempted them. This, Pandora was not daunted by: Vale witches commonly used Glamours wandlessly, to change clothes and dress their hair.  
The class practiced not on themselves, but on vases. They changed their colors. Kashmira won Ravenclaw 25 points for producing different designs, such as black and orange scenes of Greek myth, and the Chinese legend of the Star Maiden and the Cowherd.  
Pandora was content with changing her vase’s color from robin’s egg blue to a nice mint green.  
Her arm ached slightly, by the end of class-she had never used a wand so much.  
“Not bad,” Somachandra said, as he, Cressida, and Pandora walked out together.  
“But, I didn’t get any points,” Pandora said.  
“I didn’t either, that’s all right,” Cressida said.  
“McGonagall’s tough. Now, Flitwick, the Charms professor? He’s generous with points. But, you really have to blow McGonagall’s skirt up,” Somachandra said.  
Cressida giggled, and said, “I wouldn’t have put it that way, Singh.”  
Pandora felt better.  
“Oy, looks like Draco’s sent his wife to copy notes for him, eh?” cried out a boy’s voice, followed by laughter.  
“What are you doing here, Pandora? What do you need school for?” cried another.  
“Because, someone’s got to be the man in the marriage, and it ain’t Draco!” another said.  
“He’s at home, sewing his trousseau,” said another Slytherin boy.  
“Why don’t you lot go home, and hunt foxes or tickle your cousins, or whatever it is you do?” Somachandra said.  
“Somachandra, no!” Cressida said, grabbed his arm, and hurried him away from the Slytherin boys. Pandora hurried alongside them.  
“God, Somachandra, I’m sorry,” she said.  
“Don’t blame yourself. I’ve had it with those prats!” Somachandra said.  
“They can get ugly, you know not to lose your head,” Cressida said. “And Pandora, don’t listen to them. You can’t go back to the Vale. I’ve seen girls who just can’t take the criticism, so they do what they think they are supposed to do, go home and get married.”  
“I know those boys, and they’re all talk. Talk, I can ignore,” Pandora said.  
Cressida looked satisfied.  
“What was that?” Kashmira said. She had a penetrating expression in her dark fire eyes. “What was all that shouting about?”  
“Some Slytherins who think Pandora should be home in the Vale. Why don’t you write them up for being sexist pigs?” Somachandra said.  
“I can’t discipline people for their views. But, I do caution you not to try to intervene like that, it will only escalate things. And, Pandora, if you feel threatened by anyone, report it to a prefect of any Coven, or Professor Sinistra,” Kashmira said.  
“Thank you, Kashmira,” Pandora said. “It was nothing, really.”  
Kashmira nodded, and they continued to Defense Against the Dark Arts. On the Gryffindor side, she was buoyed and reassured by the sight of Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Harry smiled at her, and they looked into each other’s eyes.  
“Who’s it this year, then?” an Irish boy asked Harry and Ron.  
“I just know his name, Robert Fortune,” Harry said.  
At that moment, the Professor entered the room. He wore a dark blue suit and a khaki trench, which he removed and hung on a stand. He had blonde hair, and one blue eye and one brown. He was world-wearily handsome, loneliness and haunted recollections dressed up as a traveling financier. He seemed like the kind of traveler, in fact, who had multiple IDs and was never who he claimed to be.  
“All right, where do we begin?” he said, looking out at them bemusedly. He seemed to find the room full of young people in front of him, waiting to be taught, a surreal sight.  
“The first thing I want you lot to know about fighting the Dark Arts is something an old friend once told me,” he continued, in a strong Northern English accent, “ ‘Those who fight monsters should take care that they do not become monsters themselves; and remember, when you look into the abyss, that it looks back into you.’ I thought she was just showing off by quoting Nietzche, at the time. She was clever like that,” he said. “Now that its sat twenty years or so, I get it. When you think like the animal you’re hunting, you think less like a man. When you banish a demon, if you don’t get the Hell out of there quick, it can enter your blood. When the Dark Arts enter your life, they’ve usually got there at your invitation, whether you reckoned on that at the time, or not. Seems its my job to teach you to recognize them before you play in the wrong toybox.”  
Pandora didn’t know what to make of this man in Muggle dress, and his unorthodox monologue, but, as she looked around at her fellow students, both Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, they all seemed both energized and mystified.

Fortune’s words had struck the mark, hitting Harry where his most particular fears lived. He feared going dark, and he feared Voldemort touching his life. He wrote down the quote, ‘Those who fight monsters…’ then quickly raised his eyes once more to Fortune.  
“What’s a monster?” Fortune asked. “Life isn’t the cinema, is it? Where the monsters have the decency to come all scaly, slimy, green and hulking, coming out of the swamp or the graveyard, on Halloween night? That ain’t life. A monster may look just like you or I, and come like whatever you’ve always wished for, any day of the week. You’ll know ‘em by how they operate, and that’s by seduction. They get into your head, then your heart, then your life. We’re going to talk about three beings that work that way, this term: Incubi, Vampires, and Dark Wizards. They all can appear as nice and normal as you like, and they all get you proper wet and open before they give you the shaft.”  
The Gryffindor side of the room laughed heartily. The Ravenclaws mostly managed half unwilling giggles. Harry could well believe that Fortune was an old friend of Sirius’s and Remus’s. However, he wondered how the Slytherin students would feel about Dark Wizards being discussed as a threat, when that category could apply to half their fathers. This unequivocal condemnation of the Dark Arts would surely cost Dumbledore-he was, some would say, teaching children that only Light magic was acceptable, when many felt that regulating magic infringed on their freedom.  
Fortune walked them through the definition of an Incubus, and its female counterpart, the Succubus, Faer beings from the Kingdom of Winter, made of air and dreams. Though they took attractive human forms, their true forms were not corporeal, and they fed off sexual energy. Humans found their enthrallment addictive.  
“They want us to die virgins or something?” Seamus Finnigan said.  
“I’d rather Death by Incubus,” Ron said.  
“Succubus, you mean?” Dean said.  
Ron blushed, and hurriedly said, “Yeah.”  
“Succubus, incubus, whatever,” Harry said.  
“I think there’s probably worse ways to go, than death by sex,” Ron said.  
Sounding haunted, Neville said, “You say that now-turn to page 141 in the textbook.”  
The boys all did so, but Fortune said, “I’ve seen worse.”  
The boys looked at him in horror.  
“Professor?” Hermione asked. “How do you break the enchantment of an incubus or succubus?”  
“By ‘killin’ ‘em. Doesn’t end till they die,” Fortune said. “But, if you’ve cottoned on to the fact that you’re being drained, there are various ways to ward them off. First, Runic inscriptions.”  
Fortune ran through inscriptions that could be tattooed on one’s person, carved on one’s homes or belongings, and incantations. Hermione searched for confirmation in the textbook, but stopped searching, eventually. This all seemed to be gleaned from Fortune’s experience.  
Class ended.  
“Right then. If I meet a Succubus in the Village, I’ll speak Latin at her,” Dean said.  
“I think I’d let her suck me, first,” Seamus said.  
“Pandora!” Neville said, and made a beeline for the Ravenclaw side, for Harry’s girlfriend.  
“Oy, Harry,” Fortune said. Harry glanced at Pandora, who gave Neville an excited hug, and then back to the professor.  
“I have your mum to thank for that opening line,” Fortune said.  
“My mum? You knew her in school?” Harry said.  
“Before. We grew up together, up north,” Fortune said. “Me, her, Remus, Severus, we were terrors! Four kids with magical powers roaming the moors. Sounds like the bloody Midwich Cuckoos. Very well could’ve been, if not for Hogwarts.”  
“Wait…Severus, as in Severus Snape? How could he ever have been my mum’s friend?” Harry said.  
After the Dark Trial, Harry had found out that the Alchemy teacher he had loathed was once a Death Eater, and a doctor of torture at Drakenberg. Even before what he found out about his conduct towards Pandora, Harry didn’t trust the man as far as he could throw him.  
“We were kids. We all turned out different. These years, at Hogwarts, Harry, they’re going to shape you, and the wizard you choose and are able to become,” Fortune said. “It’s all what you make it.”  
“What was she like?” Harry asked.  
“Funny as Hell, smart as a whip, lightyears ahead of all of us on every subject, and not just school things. She knew a little bit of everything, and she thought on her feet. She was tough, and didn’t put up with bullshit, and could tell you off like no one else, but God…her heart. If you were in her heart, you never had to wonder, and she never really gave up on you,” Fortune said. “Fierce, honest. Best friend I ever had. I’m here to help you, Harry. For Lily.”  
Harry smiled. “I’ll be glad of your help,” he said.  
As Fortune talked, his mother felt real and present, as if she was in the room, just out of sight. He had seen pictures of her, a cheerful looking redhead with rosy skin, bright green eyes, dressed simply and sportily in the styles of the decade before, and mostly photographed going through the rites of young motherhood-feeding Harry a bottle, playing Lego blocks with him, holding his little hands as he shakily tried to walk. He had only seen pictures of his mother in the act of being his mother or standing beside his father as a young bride on their wedding day. He had never thought of her as a schoolgirl, but Fortune’s stories conjured the image of a dynamic young woman, bold and intelligent, opinionated and not afraid to seize the day, much like Hermione and Ginny. That didn’t surprise him-but, the idea of her as Snape’s childhood friend did.  
Harry met up with Pandora in the corridor. He slipped his arm around her waist.  
“How’s your first day going?” he asked.  
“Brilliantly, love!” she said. “I’m so excited to be here.”  
“Excited? Wait till Friday. We can go to the village together, and on Saturday morning there’s a Quidditch match,” Harry said.  
“You’ll get to see Harry in his element. He’s Seeker, wins every time,” Neville said.  
“Not every time, trust me,” Harry said.  
Pandora smiled, and said, “I look forward to it! Neville wanted to show me some of the flora around the castle. I must say, Neville, I had no idea the roots of the thistlefig could be put to that use!”  
Harry thought her ‘I look forward to it’ was a perfunctory, polite, posh Vale answer.  
“What use?” Harry asked.  
Neville and Pandora shared a benignly cagey look. Clearly, only plant people would understand what was so exciting about the uses of thistlefig roots. Harry was a little miffed that Pandora seemed more jazzed about thistlefig roots than Quidditch. He’d imagined her asking him questions about the finer points of Quidditch, and the two of them having a long walk as he taught her all about it, and on the morning of the match her clapping and cheering wildly as he caught the Golden Snitch, but she hardly seemed interested.  
Harry searched his heart: was he miffed, he asked himself, by Pandora’s familiarity and immersion in a shared interest with Neville, or her lukewarm response to Quidditch?  
“Catch up with you later, Pandora! Don’t forget to talk to Professor Sprout about the Botany Club! Just wait till she sees your botanical illustrations,” Neville said.  
“Thank you, Neville!” she said, and waved as he headed up the corridor.  
“So, botany?” Harry said.  
“It’s a common pursuit in the Vale, especially for young ladies. But, Neville has an impressive knowledge of it for a boy!” Pandora said. “we had such delightful expeditions for plant specimens when he was staying with the Springhavens.”  
“Right, when he was out of school a few months back,” Harry said.  
“But, of course I want to see you play Quidditch! I wasn’t planning a botanical expedition the morning of the match!” Pandora said. “Harry, is everything quite all right?”  
Harry was embarrassed. He was used to being around sporty Gryffindor girls, who wore Muggle blue jeans with ease and talked bull with the boys about English Premier League Quidditch and school sports. Only now he realized that he didn’t know Pandora’s interests aside from alchemy, and that they inhabited very different worlds.  
“Yeah. I’m so glad you’re here,” Harry said. That’s what mattered-that she was free, and they were together. “You can tell me all about the uses of thistlefig roots, if you want.”  
“I don’t think that would be quite as interesting for you as for me. We don’t have to have everything in common, you know. No two people do, no matter how affectionate they may be. And its not that I have no enthusiasm for Quidditch. I don’t know very much about it. It wasn’t an encouraged interest for young ladies. But, I’m here to experience all that I can. I can’t wait!” Pandora said.  
“You’ll have a lot of fun. There’s always a party in the Common Room, after,” Harry said, and kissed her cheek. “Music, butterbeer, everyone stays up late…you can get to know people, it’ll be great.”  
“Well, sounds rather nice, but that is contingent upon Gryffindor beating Hufflepuff, isn’t it?” Pandora said.  
“Don’t you worry about that,” Harry said confidently, and kissed her cheek.  
Pandora smiled. Harry felt warmth in his belly, in his heart, in his face, their blended happiness. He couldn’t believe he had been jealous of Neville for a moment, for knowing her first by a matter of weeks, and for capturing more of her attention with thistlefigs than he had with Quidditch. He promised never to waste time on a silly feeling like that, again. He always wanted her to feel free beside him, free to be herself.  
Pandora looked serious, and said, “Harry, I have something to tell you: Professor Snape wrote to me.”  
“What could he have to say to you?” she asked.  
“Well, as he was leaving, he asked my permission to write to me. He owes me, after the offense he committed against me, and asked my leave to serve me one day if ever I needed him. I said yes,” Pandora said.  
“Why? Pandora, he’s a Death Eater,” Harry said, in a whisper so that no one walking around them could overhear.  
“So was my Uncle, and he raised me with love,” Pandora said.  
“He chucked your whole family out of the house for Voldemort,” Harry said. “Anyway, Snape kissed you against your will-why do you want to keep in touch?”  
“In the Vale, Harry, we live by honor. If Severus offended me, he then has to make it up to me somehow by serving me,” Pandora said. “It is tradition.”  
“You don’t owe people you can’t trust a chance to betray and hurt you again,” Harry said.  
Pandora looked somewhere between shocked and thoughtful.  
“If those Vale people had any honor, would they be following a mass-murdering, blood purist despot?” Harry said.  
“Well…” Pandora said.  
“Look, now that Fortune is officially teaching us that Dark magic isn’t just another sort of magic but something to be wary of, things are going to heat up. Guild Members who are for Riddle are going to push back at Dumbledore, and people like Sirius who support him. Now’s not the time to make allowances for people like Snape, who use Dark Magic and manipulation to get what they want,” Harry said.  
“He…tried to bind me to him as his apprentice. That’s why he broke my wand. In aiding me to make my own, he would become my master,” Pandora said. “He told me none of this. Dumbledore explained it to me.”  
“There you go. Can you trust someone like that? Do you want someone you can’t trust serving you in any way?” Harry said.  
“Life is different in the Vale, especially for women. It felt impossible to simply say I didn’t want to do something, or I didn’t want any more to do with someone. There are so many chains, of obligation, tradition, and rank, there. I feel a fool, Harry! I gave him permission, I agreed to allow him to atone himself to me, and he sent me a Calling Rune. And his address! What do I do?” Pandora said.  
“Give the letter to Sirius, he can pass it on to the Aurors. Its only a matter of time before Snape meets back up with Voldemort, and if they can catch up with him, at the very least Voldemort won’t have his pet torture doctor by his side,” Harry said.  
Pandora shuddered, and Harry put his arm around her.  
“I’m a fool,” she repeated.  
“You’re not a fool. You’re gentle. You have a kind heart,” Harry said. “Don’t worry, love. And…um…I might have gone a bit far, about your uncle.”  
“It’s the truth, isn’t it? He chose Voldemort over Aunt, Lucy, Draco, and me,” Pandora said. “Do you want to dine with Anthea and Maurice tonight? Dinner at school is noisy. The food is superb, I’ll grant.”  
“Sure. I’d love to share a carriage out to the country with you,” Harry said.  
“That was the idea, love. Unless you wouldn’t like to go back to the place where you were attacked with the Glacies charm?” Pandora said.  
“I’ve had worse than frostbite. Even with Voldemort in her head, Ginny didn’t have the heart to really hurt anyone. I’m just sorry about the orchids,” Harry said.  
Pandora kissed him, and said, “I’m sure they orchids are getting on. My hair’s come back in, after all. Meet me at the stained glass window of Godric Gryffindor, and we’ll leave with the day students.”  
“All right. The carriages come back round for you if you say ‘Conveyance’ into your wand,” Harry said.  
“I’ll remember,” she said. After another kiss, they parted to their next classes.


	20. Chapter 20

Harry and Pandora boarded a carriage. The day students, who lived in Hogsmeade, were being taken home for the evening.  
“We could just go up to Remus’s and Sirius’s, stay the night. They’d both love more time with you,” Harry said.  
“Now. Not after they learn how foolish I’ve been. My uncle is a Member of the Guild! I let a former Death Eater write to me! I didn’t think. Harry, life in the Vale...we didn’t talk openly about Riddle, and the first Coven War. There was a breath on our necks as we spoke in a certain code, and certain things….I have always known, without being told,” Pandora said. “As I got older, it was like breathing poisoned air. I couldn’t be apart of Slytherin coven.”  
Harry held both her hands.  
“Pandora, you haven’t ruined anything. You’re going to give Sirius the letter, and the Calling Rune. You’re making the choice not to protect Snape. You’re still on the path you’ve chosen,” Harry said. “away from Slytherin, towards the life you want.”  
“I felt so afraid when he kissed me. I think I tried to hide from those feelings by…controlling my behavior, and trying not to be intimidated of him. To the point that I tolerated his presence for too long in my life,” Pandora said. “I felt like I must have done something wrong, to make this happen to me.”  
“Dora…you didn’t do anything wrong,” Harry said.  
She accepted this, and exhaled fully. She realized she had not felt so at peace since the first time Snape touched her hair. Dread of him had so fully filled the landscape of her mind, that she had mistaken it for part of her. It was not, she knew that now.  
She accepted that she hadn’t caused this, and she didn’t owe anyone anything.

“Got an owl from Maurice Buttershaw,” Sirius said.  
Remus added a pat of butter to the spaghetti noodles boiling on one of the burners of the stove.  
“Not another attack in the Muggle world?” he asked.  
There had been a disturbingly frequent spate of mass shootings, at crowded Muggle venues like concerts, and while the Aurors recognized them as the work of Muggles under the thrall of Dark Magic, they were near impossible to predict. There were some warning signs, like violent posts on the internet, buying several Muggle weapons, but those didn’t manifest until the Dark enthrallment had been cast.  
“No, no, thank the gods,” Sirius said.  
As Remus stirred the butter in, he smiled. He had been raised Roman Catholic, his beloved, however, was a polytheist who had grown up in a house where Priapus in all his virile glory was not an unusual garden ornament. Two very different worlds.  
“He says Harry and Dora will be having dinner with him and Anthea,” Sirius said.  
“Are you sure they should be travelling to and from the castle like that? I’d feel better if they just stayed put at school, came home on weekends, then back up to school,” Remus said.  
“Dora’s been cooped up in Malfoy Manor all her life, and Harry’s in love and wants to show her the world. We have to let them have a bit of fun,” Sirius said.  
“Fun, yes, sure, but with Riddle’s sick obsession with Harry…”Remus said.  
Sirius wrapped his arms around Remus’s waist. Remus settled into the familiar embrace of his best friend, his lover, his husband. His back rested against Sirius’s stomach. He didn’t see the Gryffindor Coven’s lion, the war hero, the survivor of Drakenberg…if he closed his eyes, they were young men once again, Remus the bookworm, Sirius the punk rocker, they were 19 in Londinium. He hadn’t been sure, in those days, if he was truly in love with his best friend or mourning the loss of Regulus, his twin, and if Sirius truly desired him or if he was just experimenting with his sexuality as yet another rebellion. Remus regretted how much time he had wasted, doubting them both.  
“I know,” Sirius said into Remus’s ear. As always, that voice, both silken and gruff at once, made Remus swoon, frissons running up and down his spine. Sirius caressed Remus’s stomach.  
“You have to let me finish cooking, at least. You do want your dinner tonight, don’t you?” Remus said.  
“If by dinner, you mean do I want to eat butter noodles off your stomach…?” Sirius said.  
Remus chuckled, but his thoughts were beginning to get foggy with lust. He just wanted more of Sirius’s touch, his kiss, his voice. He had lusted for him since puberty, and fell for him even as destiny connected him to Regulus. He had loved them both.  
“Sirius,” Remus moaned, baring his neck to him. Sirius kissed and tasted his neck. Sirius felt Remus go a little weak, and held him tighter against him. Their hips swayed slightly against each other as if dancing.  
“Bed. Fuck dinner. Just want to take you to bed. I hate being away from home, like this. Endless meetings, the chaos of the Guild floor, listening to excuses and lies all day…and hearing about what Riddle and his followers are doing to people who can’t fairly fight them back. Muggles, children some of them. They think the people attacking them are deranged mass shooters, or terrorists…they have no idea that its magic,” Sirius said.  
“I know. But your voice is one that people depend upon to cut through the mire of denials, to cry the truth,” Remus said.  
“Ah, well, you know…its not that different than singing in a punk band. I scream things about the government as loudly as I can,” Sirius said. “Its hard to get it all out of my head.”  
“May I try?” Remus said.  
“To distract me?” Sirius asked. “oh, I think only you know exactly how.”  
Remus smiled. He slipped his wand out of the drawer beneath the kitchen counter, and pointed it at the Victrola on the table. It began to play “Cosmic Dancer” by T Rex.  
“Do you remember?” Remus said.  
“Everything,” Sirius said.  
They began to dance in the kitchen, holding each other close, swaying languidly.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Death Eater attack, hippogriff casualties:( Because Death Eaters are bad people.....:(

“So, what did you think of Fortune?” Harry asked.  
“He was an enthralling speaker, and he certainly seems to know his way around a Succubus,” Pandora said.  
Harry laughed. He loved the sound of her voice, the way its soft and refined cadence rolled like the gentle waves of a placid bay, and how she could interject wit into her voice with a certain pitch.  
“He told me that he knew my mum. That she was the one who told him that Friedrich Nietzsche quote he started class off with,” Harry said.  
Pandora leaned in closer to him. They were sitting on either side of the carriage, which was drawn by hippogriffs. As she leaned in, their knees touched.  
“Really? When I was talking to Neville, did he tell you more about your mother?” Pandora asked.  
“Yeah. He said she was funny, and tough, and a good friend. Really smart…” Harry said. “They grew up together in Yorkshire.”  
Pandora squeezed his hand.  
“I haven’t asked enough about her. So many times, I wish I had my dad, to ask what he would make of something, and what I should do…but its different, when I think of my mum,” Harry said.  
“Maybe because you knew her better. You knew her first. We all know our mothers before anyone. You were apart of her,” Pandora said.  
Harry leaned in, and kissed her.  
“You spoil me with kisses. If ever we’re apart, I will languish,” Pandora said.  
Harry smiled.  
“Then let’s never stay apart too long,” he said.  
At this, Pandora smiled. “So…do you think you could tell me a bit more about Quidditch? I know the basics, but…I’ve never been to a match, before.”  
Harry, excited, was about to launch into Quidditch 101, but the carriage lurched violently. Harry’s vision blurred from motion, but he was horrified to see Pandora hit her head against the back wall of the carriage. He called out her name.  
“Harry, what’s happening?!” she cried.  
“I dunno yet, but get your wand ready,” he said.  
He knew it was unfair to ask her to be ready to duel if she could have a concussion, but it might come to that. Harry stuck his head out of the window. Framed by violet evening sky were the billowing black cloaks of Death Eaters on brooms.  
“Fuck,” Harry said.  
Both of the faces of Lord Voldemort’s followers were covered by engraved silver masks. Harry looked down, and saw why the carriage had lurched-its wheels had taken spellfire, and looked charred and twisted. Looking like mythical thunderbirds, gold eyes flashing, the hippogriffs valiantly continued to gallop on the diaphanous clouds beneath their taloned feet. The Death Eaters on brooms gained on the carriage, and Harry ducked his head back in as one of the Death Eaters raised their wand. The carriage shook again.  
“Death Eaters?” Dora asked.  
“Yeah. How’s your head?” He asked.  
“I’m fine,” she said. Dora aimed her wand out of the window, and cried, “Elekron!”  
Harry didn’t know what that one did, but he soon found out: the sky, he could see from the windows, turned white, as if they’d been caught in an electrical storm.  
“Nice one,” Harry said. “Never heard of it.”  
“Oh, thank you! I devised it. You see, the root word of the Latin ‘Electrum’, from which we derive the English ‘electricity’ is the Phoenician, ‘Elekron’,so…” Dora explained happily, until the carriage rocked again, and they were thrown together.  
“Dora, I have an idea. We have to ditch the carriage, and get to those hippogriffs. We’ll be more…aerodynamic, on their backs,” Harry said.  
“But…its school property!” Pandora said.  
“Pandora!” Harry implored.  
“Yes, fine,” she said, threw off her robe, tucked her wand into the waist of her school skirt, and climbed out of the window. Harry did the same. Together, they ducked the zinging fire of spells as they made their way to the driverless carriage seat, and then grasped the hippogriffs’ strong, feathery bodies.  
“The reins!” Pandora instructed Harry.  
They untied the reins, and the hippogriffs were untethered from the carriage, which fell to the ground and became smaller, smaller, swallowed by the night as if by a black sea. They had no time to regard it for long. The hippogriffs savored their freedom from their burden, and spread their tawny wings, galloping faster, as Harry and Pandora accustomed themselves to the ride.  
For Harry, it was quite different to the broomstick he rode upon to play Quidditch. Pandora was clearly used to the pursuit of horseback riding, and leaned into her hippogriff’s neck, hugging it, and staring ahead determinedly, as if trying to merge her vision with the animals. Her dark hair streamed behind her in the roaring wind.  
Spells aimed their way like lethal fireworks.  
“Can you do it again?” Harry asked.  
“With pleasure!” Pandora said, and with her grip around the hippogriff’s neck maintained with one hand, she glanced over her shoulder, pointed her wand, and said into the wind, “Elekron Magna!”  
A jet of lightning fired from her wand to the Death Eaters. Harry used the Ignis Charm with which Dora had defended him at Buttershaw Hall. Fire and lightning lit the night. Harry looked into Dora’s eyes, the gray darkened with determination, and they shared a moment of zeal and victory. Pandora smiled, and Harry thought he had never seen her so beautiful.  
“I’ll pay for the carriage!” he shouted over the wind. Pandora laughed.  
From behind him, Harry heard, “I’m done with this! Grab Potter, kill the bitch!”  
“No!” he screamed, the word ripped from his gut, and tried to urge his hippogriff around.  
“Expelliarmus!” he cried, and saw one of the Death Eaters’ wands go flying. The other aimed a jet of green light at Dora. Harry went cold all over, and saw the next moments in slow motion. Dora dodged it by maneuvering her body to the underside of her hippogriff. However, the animal was hit and Harry watched the light leave its amber eyes.  
“Dora!” he cried, and held out his hand. She reached for him as the animal fell, and Harry pulled Dora up onto his hippogriff. She gripped his waist.  
“How do you get him to go down, to land?” Harry asked.  
“Just stroke him a bit, he’ll know,” Pandora said.  
Harry did so, and the clouds wetly caressed their shoulders as the hippogriff beat its wings and carried them down.  
The hippogriff touched ground in a meadow, and the smell of crushed flowers rose alongside the smell of animal. As the animal galloped, the wind roared in Harry’s ears and sailed through his clothes. Dora’s arms and her bosom and belly against his back were the warmth in his world. Danger’s thrills ran riotously below his skin, but they weren’t home free, yet.  
They galloped towards the woods, but large, dark wolves with mottled fur and glowing red eyes emerged from the trees.  
Harry and Dora aimed stunning spells at the wolves as they advanced. They gripped the hippogriff’s neck as it majestically reared at the wolf running to attack it. A chorus of growls from his fellows seemed to egg the wolf on as he advanced on the great bird. The wolf struck. Harry grabbed Dora’s arms, and pulled her along as he slid off the dying animal’s back. He felt a stab of guilt that the two hippogriffs had lost their lives. He pulled Dora along, and they tried to run, but the strong arms of creatures half wolf and man seized them. Large hands covered Harry’s mouth. He understood at once that the Death Eaters and the Dark Creatures, the wolves, had been working together, and lured them into a trap that spanned air and land. 

Pandora struggled all the way. The man that held her tightly in his grasp smelled of fur, sweat, and old clothes that had been wet and dried moldy. She screamed, not out of fear but because whatever the source of the red chord, it was screaming for Harry. As the wolf that held her walked through the forest, followed by other animals who’d assumed their human forms once again, he could only see where the moonlight squeaked through the canopy of tree branches and lay on the floor in slats that reflected the spindly branches. She couldn’t see which wolf held Harry.  
Her head ached. 

In her head, the words, ‘Kill the bitch!’ rang through her mind. She had been called pet, dove, crumpet, dear, love-never anything so ugly, and her entire being was affronted. she realized that her place in the world had been one defined by love. Her aunt and uncle had been loving and generous-until life had beaten them down, and distracted them. Others were not so kind-to Snape, she was a project, someone to mold and make dependent on him, plus a ticket to the upper classes. To the men who had attacked her and Harry, she was just a bitch. The lack of regard for her was, in her eyes, the same. Dora struggled in the werewolf’s arms, fighting to get free not just physically, but from the presence of people who did not value her. They couldn’t have her body, or her soul.  
‘Harry,” she thought, reaching out for him with all the love in her heart.  
‘Love, please, don’t struggle. No sudden moves. I’ll find you,’ he promised.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The term 'Wicce' here is used not in reference to the religion or a follower of it, but the Saxon word for 'Witch'.

The wolves took Harry and Pandora to their camp, an assortment of tents in a meadow. They were made of skin and fur. Outside the tents stood women and children wearing a ragged assortment of found Muggle clothing and rudely improvised clothes of leather and fur. Bones adorned their hair, and their faces were either painted or tattooed with Runes. The moon and campfire shone on them.  
Dora assessed what she saw, and hoped Harry was sharing her thoughts: the spectators were all women and children, a few youths who looked like boys around 13. That meant that all the men in the camp, such as they were, were part of the hunting party that had collaborated with the Death Eaters to capture them. They were talking a fighting force of a little over a dozen. If they could reach their wands, they could easily stun-and-run the lot by taking them in half between them.  
‘Don’t try anything yet,’ Harry cautioned, but seemed to approve her assessment over all.  
The women and children assembled around a dirt clearing. The men marched Harry and Dora to the center of it. The heat of a large campfire stung Dora’s face, coaxing tears to her eyes. She thought of accounts of witch burnings she had read in the books of her uncle’s library, medieval and Renaissance witches whose last sight had been the orange haze of light, the smoke, and gathered faces watching them.  
The man who held Dora would not relinquish his grip, and following Harry’s direction, she did not struggle. Nor did he, and stood with stoic composure in the grip of a gaunt, darkhaired wolf-man who looked human but for his glowing amber eyes.  
A muscular blonde man in leather clothes addressed the gathered wolves in a roughhewn but lyrical language that Dora did not recognize. But, she was raised by a Member of the Guild, and knew a politician when she heard one. The way this man’s voice rose and fell, the way he injected righteous indignation into his voice, and the way the people around him answered with passionate assent-this was a little rally, he was their leader, and he was proving a point. They chanted in their language, and it sounded like they were preparing for war.  
“Walk, Witch!” ordered the man who held Dora, but he said ‘witch’ with a swallowed ‘a’ at the end.  
‘‘Witcha…Wicca…Wicce’, Dora thought. He was used to speaking Saxon! These wolves spoke Saxon…Dora wondered if their settlement had been there since the days Saxons ruled Britain.  
“Do you not fear witches?” Dora asked.  
He sneered down at her.  
“Should I fear you, little girl? You’re nobody. We wanted Potter…got a sweet little witch in the bargain. You, we’ll be keeping. Ulfric’s always wanted a pet wicce,” the wolf said. He marched her away from the campfire, away from Harry, and threw her into a tent.  
The women regarded her. A gray-haired woman surrounded by children came forward. She wore a long robe like a druid’s, but made of a roughspun hemp.  
She held Dora’s chin. Her nails were grown long and filed talon like. Her eyes were a sick blue, glazed with rheum, yellow where they should be white, and bloodshot. Her breath smelled like old blood.  
“Take her back to her people,” said the old woman, her breath gracing Dora’s face.  
“Why? She’ll be Ulfric’s wicce wife! He’ll be ever grateful to me for bringing him a wicce wife, to cast him spells. They’re loyal once you dick them. Every woman’s loyal to the wolf who bleeds her. This one’s a virgin, never bled. Ulfric will have the first use of her,” said the wolf.  
“Not this one. Gray eyes, like Freya, the goddess of time. Time belongs to time. This wicce will destroy us, if you lay a hand on her,” said the old woman.  
“Ulfric will favor us! With the wicce, he can put down Fenrir, and our tribe will be free,” argued the wolf.  
“Time does not forget. Turn your face, girl. Don’t look at me with those gray eyes,” Said the old woman.  
“All my family have gray eyes,” Pandora said. “It doesn’t mean anything.”  
“Shut up, Wicce!” cried the male wolf, and slapped Dora. Her ear rang, and she hit the floor. Her cheek throbbed, as if swollen, and her lip hit her teeth and was cut on them. Dora spit blood onto the dirt floor.  
“Arnulf! You fool! You hit a gray eyed woman!” wailed the old wolf woman. “You have struck Freya herself. What are you about?”  
“To Hell with your superstitions, old woman. Gray eyed women? To Hell with it! We’ve got to break the little wicce, then she can liberate us from Fenrir,” Arnulf said.  
“Fenrir will soon have Potter, what the Dark Lord asked for. It may be Voldemort will keep his word, and give us what’s promised. But, its all naught for us, now. She will call the Valkyries,” said the old woman. “And, as you drew her blood, it is her right.”  
“Valkyries?” Pandora said. The old woman was mad, and seemed to think that she really was an avatar of the Germanic goddess, Freya. Dora thought of what she knew of Freya-the goddess of beauty…but, also, of war. Those who fell in battle were brought to her hall, Valhalla, and she was the commander of the war goddesses, the Valkyries.  
Pandora closed her eyes, lying on the floor. She felt the shame and hopelessness, but the part of her that could still hope called out for Harry. Through the lens of his memory, she saw the two of them kissing by the lake, as singing Alkonosts flew overhead. She remembered the clear, resplendent notes of the Alkonosts’ song. It became louder, and clearer….when the walls of the tent started to blow, and the children with electric blue eyes and bones in their hair began to clutch the old woman’s arms and legs out of fear. Dora heard the beating of wings as something flew over the tent, and shook it further.  
Arnulf grabbed for her, but Dora managed to get her wand out, aim it, and shout, “Stupefy!”  
He was stunned, and flew through the tent’s flap.  
The old woman looked at her, resigned, as she ran out of the back flap of the tent. Dora ran into a world in tumult. The Alkonosts had come to her and Harry’s aid, and they appeared somehow more womanish than before, winged gray eyed goddesses beating their wings furiously, and scattering the werewolves’ tents. The trees whipped and bent, the tents flew and scattered. She heard Harry shouting charms, mostly stunning the wolves advancing upon him.  
Dora joined in, and they enacted the plan they had cooked up upon being taken to the camp, although it was hard to see, hear, or stay on her feet in the wind.  
A wolf leapt at them, and was stopped in its arc by a thin, brown wolf who bit its side. The two wolves fought in a rolling tangle, and it seemed the thin brown wolf had deliberately intervened to save Harry and Dora.  
“Harry, run!” Dora shouted. This was their chance. They escaped to the woods, and ran as fast as they could.  
“They’re not following!” Harry said, after a while.  
“That must have been Ulfric, that the other wolf attacked. He’s their leader, so they must have been defending him,” Pandora said. “But, why would one of Ulfric’s werewolves gone against him, like that?”  
“Dora….I think that was Dr. Lupin. He’s a werewolf. But, I didn’t know he could transform when the moon wasn’t full, or how he found us,” Harry said.  
Pandora didn’t know what to say, but if she kept running she felt like her lungs were going to burst. She stopped, gasping, at the banks of a river. It looked shallow, and was dotted with big, mossy boulders it would be pleasant to climb on, on a lazy, sunny summer’s day. Moonlight danced on the rushing water. On the other side of the river, began an orchard. It looked like apple blossoms that the moonlight enameled in silver, and over the tops of the trees, Dora could just see the roof and chimneys of an old house.  
Dora and Harry looked at each other…it was the orchard from their dream!


	23. Chapter 23

Harry and Dora waded through the shallow water and climbed the boulders, touching down at the water’s muddy, reedy edge.  
“Dora, your mouth! Its swollen!” Harry said.  
“One of the wolves, a brute called Arnulf, hit me,” Dora confessed.  
Harry looked shocked, and outraged.  
“Dora, I’m sorry this happened to you. Its all my fault. Voldemort’s after me, you got mixed up in it,” he said, guilt ridden.  
Dora lay her hand upon Harry’s. “Harry, you can’t blame yourself for the actions of a madman,” Pandora said. “Voldemort has been pursuing you since you were born. You did not choose this!”  
Harry looked down, and it was clear that he still felt guilt and shame. She wished she could take it away, for him, give him peace.  
“Let me fix it,” he said, looking up. He pulled out his wand, waved it over Dora’s busted lip, and said, “Integro!”  
She felt a flare of pain, and then all the pain ceased and her lip went back to normal size.  
“Thank you, Harry,” Pandora said.  
“I don’t want you to be hurt because of me, ever again,” Harry said.  
Together they entered the forest of white blossoms. After what they’d faced at the werewolf camp, Dora could hardly believe that this forest of spring perfume, virginal and dainty white blossoms, and moonlight lay so close. Everywhere they looked, slender trees extended their boughs heavily laden with white flowers. Dora and Harry brushed them, and the flowers trembled and fell, adorning their hair and shoulders.  
Eventually, they crossed the orchard, and beneath the protective shade of towering, ancient oaks, stood a Tudor manor of generous, but not overwhelming proportion on an overgrown green lawn. Despite the wildness around it, the house still looked friendly and welcoming.  
“How could we have dreamed of this place?” Pandora asked.  
“Maybe its like the Alkonosts…when they appeared to us at the lake, they were telling us that they were on our side, they’d help us if we ever needed it. I heard their song, in my head, and I knew they were coming,” Harry said.  
He was walking around the house, and Dora asked, “Will we not go inside the house? It doesn’t look inhabited.”  
“Yeah, but estates like this always have a bunch of outbuildings, like a gatehouse, a carriage house, a groundskeeper’s cottage. We can find a place to catch our breath, and leave fewer traces than breaking a window to get into the main house,” Harry said.  
“Are you a wizard, or a thief, Harry Potter?” Pandora asked. She marched over to the front door, waved her wand, and said,  
“Resigno!”  
The door swung open with a creak.  
“God, I love you,” Harry said.  
“Likewise, Mr. Potter,” Pandora said.  
“I’ll go first,” Harry said, and added, “Lux”, pointing his wand ahead of him like a flashlight.  
Pandora did the same, and they entered the entrance hall. The first thing they saw was a portrait of a dark-haired woman in an 18th century Mantua gown, with soulful green eyes and thick dark hair. The gold plaque on the frame read, ‘Ianthe Potter”.  
“Potter…” Pandora said. “Look, Harry, she has your name, and her eyes are like your’s.”  
Harry stared into Ianthe Potter’s green eyes.  
“Welcome home, Harry,” Ianthe said. Her voice was melodic and gentle.  
“Home?” Harry said, and Pandora heard the ache of mingled hope and disbelief in his voice.  
“You’ve been through so much, my love. But, you were never truly lost. You were always on your way here,” Ianthe said.  
“Are you…related to me?” he said.  
“I’m your grandmother, and this is our home, Orchard Grange,” Ianthe said.  
“I never knew this place existed! No one ever told me,” Harry said.  
Ianthe’s green eyes clouded with sad remembrance, and she said, “When your father died, and you, his heir, were lost, we went to sleep, as did the house, hidden under the protection of ancient warding charms. But, we awoke when we felt that you were close, and in need. Light has returned.”  
Ianthe waved her hand, and light flooded the entrance hall, as if an electric switch came on. They saw the walls covered in a tapestry, a floral background on red silk, and a unicorn in a pen, and more portraits of Potter ancestors. Harry looked around and around in awe, at his family. He and Dora walked through the house, reverently exploring.  
“Dora,” he gasped, as they came to a cozy sitting room with a small library, a fireplace, and many photographs.  
Harry picked up a framed picture of two people Dora deduced at once were his parents on their wedding day. Harry’s father looked like him, darkhaired and bespectacled, but he was more solid, not quite as lithe and thin. Where Harry’s build was that of a swimmer, his father’s was more that of a soccer player. As for his mother, in her white cotton Victorian-esque wedding gown, with waving bright auburn hair, she looked like the heroine of a Welsh fairy tale. In one hand, she held her bouquet, a cluster of sweet william, baby’s breath, and orange blossoms, with the other she clasped her husband’s hand. They looked at each other with contagious joy.  
“Pandora…this is my mum and dad,” Harry said. His voice was thick with emotion which he was trying to hold back. “Lily, and James Potter.”  
Pandora hugged him around his shoulders. “They look very much in love,” Pandora said.  
Harry laughed. “Sirius and Remus told me they fought like cats and dogs all through school. My mum thought my dad was a good for nothing troublemaker! She was a prefect, you see.”  
Pandora laughed. “So, what changed her mind?”  
“Well, they were a bit vague about that part, actually. But, it must’ve been bloody impressive, in’it?” Harry said.  
“Yes, I suppose so,” Pandora agreed. “They look very happy, here.”  
“Its Valentine’s Day. In the photograph…that’s the day they got married,” Harry said.  
“What is Valentine’s Day?” Pandora asked.  
Harry looked surprised. “You know-greeting cards, chocolate….?”  
Dora shook her head. “No, Wizards don’t keep that one, at least not in the Vale. We tend to get married on Rosalia, the Day of Roses, or Floralia, the Day of Flowers.”  
“Makes sense. Weddings, flowers. Valentine’s Day is on February 14, every year, and, it’s a day to celebrate being in love. You give each other these cards, called Valentine’s, or flowers,” Harry explained. He seemed slightly embarrassed.  
“That sounds lovely!” Pandora said. “Like Rosalia in the winter. February 14…for Wizards, that is the Lupercalia. There is a blessing and all that, but its not romantic. I think I like the sound of this Valentine’s Day far better.”  
“I can’t wait to celebrate it with you,” Harry said.  
They continued to look at the Potter family photographs, which spanned from pictures of Harry as a baby with his parents, to pictures of relatives whose names he didn’t know in black and white pictures from various eras, even some 19th century sepia daguerrotypes.  
“We’re lucky that we found this place,” Harry said.  
“It was waiting for us,” Pandora said, and squeezed his hand.


	24. Chapter 24

“Look-its your family tree!” Pandora said. 

She and Harry held hands, and she pulled him along into a room, bare of furniture, whose walls were covered with an elaborate tapestry. Embroidered vines graced the walls, and the leaves bursting from the vines were inscribed with gracefully written names. Harry and Pandora traced their hands on the wall, following the flow of the vines, and reading generations of names.

“Here’s your father! And here you are!” Pandora said.

“I can’t believe this place was here, all this time,” Harry said. “Does your family have a tree like this?”

“I don’t know. I never knew any of the Blacks, until I met Sirius…he and I are the last of them, really. And I’m not on the Malfoy tree, because I’m not a Malfoy,” Pandora said.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said.

“I shouldn’t have been so candid,” Pandora said.

“You can always be honest with me. I know how you feel,” Harry said, and held her hand. 

“I know how you feel, too, and how it must feel to find your family,” Pandora said.

“There are so many names! And, they’re all my family. Hey, look, there’s Ianthe, up there, near the ceiling,” Harry said.

“She had a very big family!” Pandora marveled. From the names of Ianthe and her husband, Oberon Potter, were seven leaves. 

They read out interesting or familiar names, marveling that anyone was ever called ‘Terpsichore’ or ‘Hubert’. Harry recognized the surnames of some of his Hogwarts classmates, and marveled at the fact that they were laterally related. Each name on the tree represented a relative whose existence he had only just discovered, whom he would never meet. As they read the names, Harry imagined that these long-gone ancestors souls shuddered on the other side of the Veil between life and death, and whatever awareness remained to them turned like an eye to him and Pandora as they stood in the empty moonlit room in Orchard Grange. The Grange felt welcomingly haunted, a presence in its rooms and halls regarding him and saying, ‘You’re home.’ He was as sure of it as he had been of the gravity he felt towards Dora. 

Harry kissed her, a soft kiss that they gently pulled away from to breathe.

“What’s next, Harry?” she said.

“Next…well, we haven’t got an owl, so we can’t send word to anyone that we’re here. We can call another school carriage in the morning, and explain ourselves. For now, you need to rest,” Harry said.

“I’m fine,” Pandora said. “In fact, I feel sharply and vividly alive! Its not quite like anything I’ve ever known.”

“I felt that way during the Tournament and the Trial,” Harry said. “Its adrenaline, I guess, keeps your mind sharp and your body going when you need to survive.”

“Well, once one has had it, I don’t see how one can go without it. Heady stuff!” Pandora said.

Harry laughed. “Don’t take up skydiving as a hobby or anything-I have heard that adrenaline is addictive.”

“What is that?” Pandora asked.

Harry explained the death-defying Muggle pursuit of jumping off a plane and activating a parachute mid-air. As Wizards generally did at the sound of Muggle passtimes, Pandora shook her head at the senseless folly.

“Let’s find somewhere to lie down,” Harry said.

They peeped into the rooms of Orchard Grange, and found one uncannily preserved bedroom. Its wardrobe, chest of drawers, and mirror were made of venerable oak wood, the four posts of the canopy bed were carved with flowers, vines, and acorns. Its curtains were crisp white cotton, and it was spread with a soft quilt and crochet coverlet.

Dora and Harry lay facing each other on the bed, after taking off their muddy shoes.

“Dora…I’m sorry all this happened. I know that up at the castle, and Remus and Sirius, and Maurice and Anthea must all be in a state, and I hate that you got dragged into it,” Harry said. 

“It’s not your fault,” she said again, this time caressing his face.

“You got hurt,” Harry said.

“No worse than you,” Dora said. “We were in the same danger, and we faced it together.”

At this, Harry smiled. “Yeah, I think we did all right, didn’t we? That Elekron charm, that did some real damage!”

“Words are the most dangerous weapon on earth. If you know what they can mean, you can use them several different ways,” Pandora said.

“Yeah, but the tricky part is pronouncing them correctly,” Harry said.

Pandora laughed, and admitted, “Pronunciation is everything.”  
“And where did you learn to ride a hippogriff?” Harry said.

“I never have! But, they are rather like horses, and I adore horses. My uncle and I ride together in the morning, when he’s home from Londinium,” Pandora said.

“You were amazing, Dora. I was scared for you, but not worried about you. Somehow, I knew I could count on you, that you’d do your bit and we would get out of there. But, you’re never sure…so that scared me, what could happen. How can you be sure and not sure all at once?” Harry said.

“How can we love and hate, at once? How can we take to our beds afraid and fall into peaceful sleep? Its possible to feel many things at once,” Pandora said. 

Harry wished he could find the right words to tell Dora how his range of feeling had been expanded since they met. He felt things of a depth and texture that he had never before suspected within himself. He adored and admired her, wanted to know her totally, and was terrified that someone would hurt her. This night had been perilously close to the realization of that fear, and yet having Dora to face danger with had made Harry feel less alone.

Just as he had jokingly warned Dora against becoming addicted to adrenaline, he admonished himself not to get used to the heady feeling of having a partner to face danger with. He had loved the interplay of their instincts, as they evaded the Death Eaters and escaped from the werewolves, but he would have to abolish this joy.

“Speaking of feelings…I know I am being far too forward, but when we opened the door to Orchard Grange, you said something to me…”Dora said.

“Yeah, I know. That I love you. And I didn’t just mean that you’d just done something really cool, and I think you’re awesome. I meant it, Dora. I love you,” Harry said. “I mean, we can debate this thistlefigs versus Quidditch issue at some other time, but I don’t think loving someone happens because you have everything in common with someone or like all the same things…its about, more like…there’s something inside you and something inside them that just speaks the same language. When you’re happy, they know why and how important it is, and are happy, too. And, when you’re both in danger, you can work together to get out of it. And…you can have a home together.”

“You changed my life before I even met you, Harry,” Pandora said. “I told you, the past was spoken of and not spoken of, but always felt, where I grew up. I knew how my Uncle felt about how the Coven war had turned out, and when Riddle returned, as a fugitive, he was treated as a martyr, a saint, a king of legend returned to a people in peril. My aunt told me to not entertain any opinions on the matter, it was not a woman’s place. But, when I heard of the Magister’s grudge against you, his determination to take your life…it just felt wrong. You have done nothing wrong! You’re just a boy, just like Draco! Why should anyone hurt you? Its not right, nor is it fair…I felt so strongly that no one should hurt you.”

Harry caressed Dora’s face, neck, and hair. She closed her eyes, savoring his touch, and he felt her sighs kiss his palm.

“I wish I had known that you were out there, feeling for me. Maybe we did feel each other, Dora. Maybe the red chord was there, all along, and you felt it…” Harry said.

“Perhaps. Where there is magic, rule nothing out,” Pandora said.

Harry smiled. He had been skeptical to believe in magic, when that magical wallet had quite literally dragged him into Londinium, to the door of Remus’s and Sirius’s bookshop. Where was magic when the Dursleys, the couple who ran the orphanage, set their bullying son loose on the orphans to steal their possessions and shake them down for the money they were forced to steal? Where was magic when he was hungry, scared, and beginning not to care what happened to him either way? Life felt like a slow procession leading nowhere…and then he found Londinium, its colors, lights, and Faerie music, the Goblins, Troll, Ogres, Rustic and Trooping Faeries, witches and wizards that walked its streets, its shops that sold enchanted, haunted things, the hum of energy in the air, the taste of magic that Harry swore was like the air of a carnival ground.

Magic could conceal or reveal, create or destroy, it could be chaotic, but also miraculous. In the moments when he trusted magic, Harry genuinely felt that all was possible. In these moments, magic responded with generous surprises. As he kissed Dora, and caressed her body, he felt that she was the most generous surprise that magic had bestowed yet.

Rain began to fall as they embraced in the canopied bed. It was a heavy spring rain, not the icy drip of winter. The roar of the pouring rain swallowed the sound of their moans. Love and the aftermath of danger excited Harry frantically, and he didn’t feel the same compunctions to stop as he had in the Astronomy Tower. He and Dora dared to help each other off with their school sweaters, to peel off their sweat and mud stained buttoned shirts. Harry looked into Dora’s eyes as they undressed each other. He hoped she knew that this was a promise…one day her name would be written on a leaf on the tapestry…he imagined Dora in a white dress with a veil and a bouquet, like his mother, the two of them smiling at each other the way his parents had…

When Dora kissed him Harry’s frantically wishing mind was lanced by fire, like an old oak struck by lightning. 

Then, they heard a loud knock on the door. It jolted them out of the palpable, and insistent heat building between them. They hastily dressed, and, wands ready, hurried downstairs.

Harry went ahead of Dora, and threw the door open.

“Harry!” Remus said, his face and voice relieved. “Thank God! When it began to rain, I had to hurry to track the two of you before your scent was washed away!”

“Uncle Remus!” Harry said. They threw their arms around each other, and held each other tight. When they broke apart, Harry asked.

“Was that you, who rescued us?” Harry asked.

“Yes. Ulfric, and his second in command, Arnulf, are no more. What is left of that particular werewolf pack are an assortment of children, adolescents, and the wives of Arnulf and Ulfric. I am now their chieftain, it seems, by right of conquest,” Remus said.

“You’re their pack leader, now?” Harry said. “But, what does that mean?”

“We’ll sort all that out in the days to come,” Remus said. 

“Come inside, get warm,” Harry said. Remus stepped inside, and closed the door behind him.  
Remus looked around at the entrance hall. “Orchard Grange…I haven’t been here since I was a boy.”

“Why didn’t you and Sirius tell me about it, or take me here?” Harry asked.

Remus winced, and assumed the expression of a parent readying themselves for a fight with a teenager.

“We couldn’t find it, Harry. We tried, but the wards that protect it are old. The orchard and the well on this property were once part of a Faerie forest, and the magic that protects it is old and strong. When its heir, your father, died, it hid itself from everyone but patrilineal Potter relatives who might seek it,” Remus said.

“Sorry,” Harry said, mollified.

“No need. Trust takes time. Your years at the orphanage taught you that adults can’t be trusted. But, you can trust me,” Remus said.

“I know. Remus, I’ll never be able to repay you for saving me from the Wolves. I know if you had the choice, you’d never fight another wolf,” Harry said.

Remus sighed. “I haven’t always felt kinship with other werewolves. I have often found their response to me to be one of distrust and ambivalence. I am, you see, markedly human, to them. But, we are all wolves, and all face the same institutionalized impediments to our happiness. We cannot own property, are barred from many professions, cannot sit in the Guild, are targeted for violence and harassment…no, I would never seek to make another wolf’s life harder, or pick a fight. But, Harry, that particular band was part of a larger tribe, ruled by a wolf called Fenrir Grayback. He is in league with Voldemort.”

“But, if Werewolves can’t sit in the Guild, what do they care who’s Magister?” Harry asked.

“Many wolves are angry at all Wizardkind for the restrictions that make their lives so difficult and joyless, and Voldemort has undoubtedly promised them living space, apart from Wizards, where they will live autonomously and unmolested, in return for their service to him now. Wolves like Grayback are a uniquely effective intimidation tool-capable of horrific savagery, and more than willing to act on it,” Remus said.

“There are wolves in the Vale. They live on the moors…we hear them howling. The crofters hunt them,” Pandora said, and hugged herself in horror. Then, she looked at Dr. Lupin, and apologized. “Oh, Doctor, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean….!”

With sad understanding, he said, “Pandora, please, don’t. The wolves you are familiar with are the sort that even the most violent and human-hating werewolf would call a Vargulf. They have the mental capacity of a monster from Muggle movies called a zombie-they have no personality or ability to reason left to them, they are totally animated by the hunger for blood and flesh. Perhaps hunting them is a mercy which ends their agony.”

“What could reduce a wolf to such a state?” Pandora asked.

“My father was a werewolf, and I manifested the ability to transform when I was 14. Until then, my mother hoped, and had every reason to believe, that I’d taken entirely after her family, wizards and witches. It wasn’t so. Because I am a hereditary wolf, I suffer less. Those that are bitten by a werewolf, however, become the carriers of a debilitating virus which destroys them neurologically, leaving just a host for the hunger,” Remus said.

Harry had lived with Dr. Lupin for five years, now, and knew when his composed and courteous demeanor was concealing deeper, more troubled emotions. Beneath his careful and detailed explanations, he was haunted by his life as a wolf, and what he knew of other wolfkind.

“Doctor, I’m sure that the wolves we saw in that camp are lucky to have you as a leader, now. We thank you, for rescuing us,” Pandora said.

Remus smiled. “Thank you, Pandora,” he said. “Your Uncle Sirius will be relieved to know that you and Harry are safe. He’s searching for you, too.”

“Remus, it was Death Eaters,” Harry said.  
“We expected as much. The second attempt on your life this year, Harry,” Remus said gravely. “It was a fortuitous that Orchard Grange revealed itself to you when it did-it may be the safest place for you, now, what with its ancient wards.”

“Wait, we’re moving here?” Harry asked. 

“We’ll discuss all of the particulars when you, Sirius, Dora, Lucy, and I can talk as a family,” Remus said. “Now, let’s start a fire, and get warm. The library is the coziest room, I recall.”

As they all made their way up the stairs, Harry asked, “So, you spent a lot of time here?”

“Oh, yes,” Remus said. “Your father loved inviting people over. He was an only child, after all, and loved having friends over. I spent many a weekend and summer, here, and of course you know that Sirius lived here for a time, after falling out with his parents.”

“I always reckoned….that he left home because his parents wanted him to be a Death Eater. Was that it?” Harry asked.

Remus hesitated. “They certainly wouldn’t have objected,” Remus said.

“That wasn’t it. My Aunt told me why,” Pandora said. “Her sister, Bellatrix, she was his wife. But, he didn’t want to be married anymore, and….she went mad. Like Medea. She killed their little daughter, Belphoebe, the way Medea killed her sons with Jason when he left her for the princess of Corinth.”

Harry didn’t know what to say. He looked from Remus to Dora. Dora seemed lost in dark shame, and he saw now the weight that being the last of the House of Black had been to her, one girl carrying a reputation of Dark Magic and insanity on her shoulders.

Harry had been so upset when Sirius took up his father’s seat in the Guild. Why, he’d thought, after a lifetime of defiance, had he ‘sold out’? He had fought beside Harry’s father in the Resistance, survived Drakenberg, and, Harry had assumed when he heard that Sirius fell out with his family of Dark Wizards that it had been over ideological differences. He had never suspected this sad story, but looking at Remus’s face, he knew that it was true.

“As you know, I’m sure, Dora, child marriage is not uncommon in some very traditional Pureblood families. Often the girl, the bride, was not schooled to begin with, and the young groom is charged with secrecy upon returning to school. Such was the case with Sirius. He told none of us what happened, about the wedding or Belphoebe’s existence. I never knew, until…after. After Drakenberg. He found me in Seattle, and…we talked,” Remus said.

The way he said ‘Talk’, Harry could tell it was an important talk, a talk about everything they had never said before it. 

“Love drives people mad, in my family. It happened to my Aunt Bellatrix, and to my father,” Pandora said.

“It isn’t love that drives people mad, Dora-its being unable to cope with change. If we can believe in our own survival no matter the circumstances, we can cope,” Remus said. “I never knew Bellatrix, but from what I can piece together she was a young girl who believed wholeheartedly that she needed her husband by her side to survive. As for your father….your mother was his best friend, his colleague, and his solace. Losing her, in such dark days, profoundly affected him. But, love doesn’t have to be madness. The right love can give us clarity.”

At this, Dora smiled, looking more hopeful. Remus, Harry, and Dora reached the library.

Remus transfigured some old quills into logs, and cast ‘Ignis Minor’ on them in the fireplace. The fire’s warmth began to throw, as did its amber light.  
Harry cast ‘Lux’, and the lights turned on as they had in the entrance hall, at the portrait of Ianthe’s words. The library had heavy, cranberry velvet curtains at the window, a desk, a collection of antique telescopes, a huge globe, some maps framed in glass, and many comfortable arm chairs. Remus looked around, obviously reliving many happy memories. 

“God…I remember so many things, so many happy days, here. There used to be a television, over there…and, Harry, your father and I would play chess in that window seat…your grandfather could usually be found in this room,” Remus said.

“What was he like?” Harry asked.

Remus smiled. “He was very, very kind, and very knowledgeable about the world, but still curious about it. He loved knowledge. He’d served in the Dragon Wars, and travelled extensively, so he knew a fair bit about many different cultures,” he said. 

“What were the Dragon Wars?” Harry asked.

“Well, put to it every war between Wizards for a long time was a dragon war. They were implemented in battle the way horses were by Muggles…but, horses with a nuclear button,” Remus asked. “There are fewer Covens now than there once were. When a Coven went to war against another, they dragged their allies into it, and the entire Wizarding World ended up at war.”

“Wait, if Wizards were riding dragons that spit fire at each other in the sky, at war…how did Muggles not notice?” Harry asked.

“Because, the Dragon Wars didn’t happen in this realm, they happened in Vinland, the Wizards’ country. Its in another dimension,” Pandora said.

“Of course, the Covens do not have standing armies, anymore. Nor is is considered humane to use Dragons as weapons. They are noble creatures,” Remus said. “Living up to the reputation of Lieutenant General Potter, a living legend, was quite a burden for your father at times, Harry. James often didn’t feel worthy, when in truth, he was a very lovable person. I think the Lieutenant General was actually relieved that James had grown up in such a different time, and had the chance to be a gentler person than he.”

“Were they close?” Harry asked.

“Oh, yes, your father and grandparents were extremely fond of each other! They loved walking holidays together, and sightseeing trips. Cornwall, and the Lake District, Hadrian’s Wall….there should be pictures of all that, around here somewhere,” Remus said. 

“We’ll find the pictures, take them out again,” Harry promised.

“It feels good, to talk about your father, and your grandparents. It feels like they’re happy that we’re here,” Remus said. “I lived here, too, for a time. After the war. Helped to care for the Lieutenant General and your grandmother, Euphemia. They were quite advanced in age, so Dragon Pox took a heavier toll on their body than those who were younger, and stronger.”

“You tried to save them?” Harry asked.

“Tried,” Remus said sadly. “A wizard in good health should be able to live for 300, maybe 350 years. But…I think they were both at peace with the prospect of seeing your father again, in whatever world lies beyond this.”

“Maybe that’s how it was supposed to be. My dad’s got his parents, up there, and my mum. I think they’re doing all right,” Harry said. “And I know they’re all happy to see us here. This is a happy place.”

“Maybe….Belphoebe is with them,” Pandora said.

“I’m sure, darling. They loved Sirius-of course they would care for his daughter, in the stars,” Remus said. He put his arms around Pandora and Harry. 

They settled into rooms at Orchard Grange, Remus in one room, Dora and Harry in the room they had chosen before. They got under the covers, and chastely held each other. The momentum of their earlier passion had been interrupted.  
“Our families are so different!” Dora observed. “Walking holidays for you, infanticide and child marriage for me. War heroes for you, Dark Wizards for me…”  
Harry couldn’t help it, he laughed not out of humor but incredulity. How could Dora think he would judge her for her family?

“Pandora, Sirius is your uncle, and he’s been like a father to me. I love him. He’ll be the first to tell anyone what the Blacks were like, but he also makes it clear that he never had any time for it,” he said. “You made your choice, too. You could have gone to the Vale with Draco. You could have married him. But, you don’t want Dark Magic in your life, any more than Sirius did.”

“You trust me?” Pandora said. 

“I have no reason not to, and I more than trust you, I love you,” Harry said.

“I love you, Harry. And you’re right about Orchard Grange-it is a happy place,” Pandora said.  



	25. Chapter 25

In the morning, early when the sky was still violet and the sun slept below the horizon, Remus called for them to wake up from downstairs. He did not knock on the bedroom door, which led Dora to suspect that he well knew she and Harry had slept in the same bed, but they would address this later.

Dora had woken up in the night, a few times, to the sight of Harry sleeping as deeply as a child. It seemed he could sleep anywhere. His eyeglasses had been placed on the nightstand by the bed, and without them his face looked softer, fuller, and even more boyish. He was so dear to her. Being beside him felt right, whether they were fighting Death Eaters, walking by the river, or asleep.

Dora and Harry assembled in the library, and Remus opened an Egress for them. They stepped through, and on the other side was Dumbledore’s office.

“Harry! Pandora!” Sirius exclaimed. He rushed out of his chair, and gathered them both in his arms.

“Dumbledore cast an ‘Ubi’ charm on the both of you, and it said you were at Orchard Grange…I couldn’t believe it…you found the place,” Sirius said. “But, how did you get there?”

“Give them a moment,” Dumbledore advised. “I take it you were waylayed on the way to Buttershaw Hall?”

Harry and Dora told their story, of the Death Eaters, the Wolves, finding the Grange, and Remus finding them.

Sirius and Remus looked increasingly grave as the conversation went on.

“We can, at least, rule out the possibility that this was an attempt to bring Pandora back to Malfoy Manor,” Dumbledore said.  
“Yes. When that Death Eater said, ‘Kill the…girl,’ I gathered that Harry was the target, I was the spare,” Pandora said.

"I hate this. You shouldn't be in the middle. They can have at me, I can take that chance,” Harry said.

“I can, too! We faced it together!” Dora insisted.

“In any case, if Voldemort wants Harry eliminated this eagerly, to make attempts to entice him to his side and capture him not a month apart, we can assume that whatever he is planning now requires either Harry’s death or his blood to come to fruition,” Dumbledore said.

“Blood…or death?” Remus said.

“Yes. It may be that he wants to use Harry’s blood ritualistically, to seduce Harry to his side as an heir, or to kill him and eliminate a possible equal-Dragon and Phoenix,” Dumbledore said.

“He can’t have me alive,” Harry said grimly.

Dora stroked his hand to comfort him, but then she realized this wasn’t what he needed. He didn’t look, or sound hopeless at all-he looked determined and as sharply, clearly alive as she knew they had both felt when dueling Death Eaters and fending off wolves. 

“Hopefully your cousin can tell us more,” Sirius said to Dora.

“Draco? Do you think he’s placed highly enough to overhear things of such weight?” Pandora asked.

“Well, to be frank, dear, agreeing to be our spy means he has to make being trusted by Voldemort his business,” Sirius said.

Pandora knew her face must have betrayed her worry, because Sirius looked almost sorry and said,

“He’s not our only source of information, of course. And Voldemort’s obsession with Harry is just one of many manifestations of his obsession with esoterica and mysticism,” Sirius said. “But, the most troubling one, obviously.”

“From now on, we’d be relieved if you two dined at Hogwarts. You can visit Anthea and Maurice on weekends. Try not to linger alone in the village, or between the school and the village,” Remus said.

“I understand,” Harry said.

Dora nodded in agreement, too.

“You two may take a rest day in the hospital wing, or resume classes. We leave the choice with you,” Dumbledore said.

“Class. I want to speak to Professor Fortune,” Harry said.

Dumbledore seemed to understand.

“I wouldn’t want to miss my second day,” Dora said. 

Harry looked at her. “Dora… I totally forgot….yesterday was only your first day at Hogwarts!”

“Don’t worry-I’m sure the rest of the year will be comparatively sedate,” Dumbledore said. 

Harry got the impression, as they headed towards the grand staircase, that Dora was looking at him the way he often felt Hogwarts students looking at him, as if he were a machine and they wished to remove the exterior and see its parts and how it worked. 

“Something on your mind?” Harry asked.

“Not really,” Pandora said slowly. 

“No, go on,” Harry said.

“I suppose…I was just thinking…how undaunted by all of this you seemed. But, I could see you rather working yourself up to it, finding within yourself that place where your courage lies, and bringing it up, like water from a well,” Pandora mused. 

“Everyone has to do that, don’t they? You don’t wake up brave in the morning. Takes you a few blinks, to get the sleep out of your eyes,” Harry said.

“How does it feel? To know that he is hunting you?” Pandora asked.

“Sometimes…I feel like I deserve it. Why me? Why did I survive?” Harry said.

“Why not you? Why shouldn’t it be you?” Pandora said.

“I know it’s ridiculous,” Harry said.

“No, not ridiculous. That’s how I felt, when I heard about my aunt’s daughter, Belphoebe. I feel that I am standing in her place, living her life,” Pandora said.

“Exactly. But, if we didn’t exist…well, then we wouldn’t exist, would we? There would just be nothing…and, that’s worse, even than the guilt you feel,” Harry said. 

“We must endure. We must fear no more, and live in happiness,” Pandora said.

Harry kissed her. 

When they pulled away, Harry asked, “Any double classes, today?”

“Herbology,” Pandora said.

“Leave it to a Ravenclaw, not to forget their schedule, even after a night like our’s,” Harry said.

“Leave it to a Gryffindor, not to take a rest day after a night like our’s,” Pandora said.

She departed towards Ravenclaw Tower. 

Harry returned to Gryffindor Tower. 

“Harry!” Hermione said, and rushed off the couch in the common room to hug him fiercely.

Ron was beside her, looking at him with not any less concern.

“Tell me you managed to sleep, last night?” Harry said.

“How could we have done?!” Hermione said.  
“We were worried sick,” Ron admitted.

He sat down on the couch with them, and filled them in on all he and Dora had endured, and been told.

“Guess that makes sense about the werewolves, going in for Riddle. I mean, no one wants ‘em around, they travel up and down the countryside, get accused of the worst crimes,” Ron said.

“That’s wrong!” Hermione said passionately. “We know Dr. Lupin, he’s a good person, he’s a Wizard, a human being!”

“Well, no one’s talking about him, are they?” Ron said.

“No, but you can’t just call people the exceptional example of a minority when they behave along your criteria of what’s civilized, and call the rest savages. They’re all Dr. Lupin, Ron. They’re all being made to suffer because of the way wolves are shunned,” Hermione said.

“That’s what the Doctor said, that they’re willing to shake people down for Voldemort, if he’ll give them some leg room,” Harry said.

Later, in the corridors,as he headed for class, Harry felt the stares of his classmates. Harry was used to the staring, and, as he had gone missing after dinner, perhaps it was only natural that people were curious. 

“Harry! What happened?” Neville asked, in real concern. Neville wore his heart on his sleeve and couldn’t hide his emotions if he tried, so Harry could see how frightened he had been.

“Me and Dora ran into a spot of trouble on the way to dinner, but its all sorted now,” Harry said.

“Is Dora all right?” Neville asked.

“Yeah, I think so. Neville, you and Dora know each other pretty well, don’t you?” Harry asked.

Neville blushed. “No, not really. I was staying with the Springhavens, these relatives of mine, and they called Dora over to our picnic. They asked her a bunch of nosy questions…” 

“About what?” Harry asked.

“Well, about Professor Snape. He tutors in the Vale…I guess he needs the extra money. Anyway, my Aunt Hyacinth told her to watch out for him because he was a fortune hunter,” Neville said. “But, she ended up doing private lessons with him, anyway. When she wasn’t in lessons, we’d go on botanical expeditions,” Neville said. “It was nice to meet someone with a healthy respect for plants.”

“I’m sure,” Harry said.

“Are you two…together?” Neville asked.

“Yeah,” Harry said, and Neville looked disappointed. There was a pregnant pause, then Neville recovered with a bright smile, and said,

“Well, congratulations. She’s a great girl. You’re lucky.”

“Thanks! I know it,” Harry said. Neville continued up the corridor.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione, and the other Gryffindors, went to Potions class, which they shared with the Slytherin students. It would no longer be taught by Snape, of course, which meant they could all breathe a little easier. Harry had never taken his Alchemy classes, but the rumor went that he was so exacting because he was a failed Alchemist, himself, a lackluster graduate of the Emerald Order, an alchemist society. Alchemists’ societies were like universities, centers of research and archiving, but as difficult to get into as an American Ivy League university. His own stalled career made him a cynical, menacing teacher. 

Their teacher today, however, was a cat.

Rather, a woman with a cat’s furry face, pointed ears, and glowing amber eyes. She stood at the head of the class, wearing the robes of a Hogwarts professor around her slender and toned form. She had an uncanny beauty, like one of the deities of Ancient Egypt, carved in basalt at the door of a temple, a perfect human form and an animal’s face.

“Welcome to class!” she said, in a perky American accent. “I’m Professor Gray!”

“A warlock!” Harry heard someone gasp.

“What’s a warlock?” Harry whispered.

“They’re like werewolves-a magical creature and a person, all at the same time. They can do powerful magic, but I always thought they chose to stay in their dimension,” Ron said.

Sensing that Harry needed further clarification, Hermione said, “Warlocks are magical beings with similar abilities as witches and wizards, such as spellcasting, but they are born with animal characteristics. They are often distrusted and shunned because of their animal appearance, which has historically been equated with demonic origin.”

Harry pondered this. There were a lot of fault lines in Wizardom, drawn lines to do with Coven allegiance, family name, and distinctions made between who was a Witch or Wizard and who was a magical creature, or magical being. Then, of course, there was the clash between Dark and Light magic. 

Professor Gray instructed them to open their texts. They were going to be discussing pain relieving potions, and learned about analgesic ingredients like lavender, yarrow, rosemary, white willow bark, and the various plants of the mint family.

“Hey, this is all stuff my mum uses! We grow these plants,” Ron said.

“Is your mother a Healer?” Professor Gray asked.

“Not, like, at a hospital. Just around the neighborhood,” Ron said.

Professor Gray smiled, and said, “That’s all right. Tell us about your experiences with these plants, Ron.”

Harry and Hermione exchanged an optimistic look. Potions class had certainly improved.


	26. Chapter 26

Pandora’s bed was cold and made up, unslept in. She knew she didn’t really have to touch it, but her hands felt fidgety. She needed something to do, so she straightened up the pillow. When she did, the note from Severus fell onto the floor. The Calling Rune. She realized that when she had been in danger, she hadn’t called him…she had relied on herself.  
She almost tore the note in half…then she hesitated. Professor Snape wasn’t an old man, really. He was in what she had heard men call the prime of life, when vigor was high, handsomeness was peak, and knowledge was just being able to set in and add to life’s pleasure by tempering folly and risk. But he certainly was not savoring these potential halcyon days, and seemed to live totally alone. Perhaps because he was so solitary by nature, with severe judgements and exacting standards, being noticed by him had made her feel special, set apart from the other Vale girls because she had some natural talent that he had seen. 

He’d made such plans for the two of them…that she would be his Apprentice and wife, that they would travel the world together, evading Voldemort on an endless Alchemy expedition. She closed her eyes, and saw the night he had kissed her neck. In her dream, he had pierced her neck with sharp fangs, like a snake….or, a Vampire.  
A Vampire… but, that couldn’t be true! That couldn’t be it…Maybe, in her dreams, she had equated him with Mrs. Featherstone’s villainous character Sanguinetti, who’d tried to seduce Hawksmoor’s heroine, Arabella. The dream was just fear and fancy. She shoved the letter in the desk beside her bed. She would show Dr. Lupin and her Uncle Sirius on the weekend. Pandora freshened up, changed clothes, and was about to head out of the room when Cressida opened the door.  
“Pandora! Good Heavens!” Cressida said. “Are you all right? Professor Sinistra, Kashmira and the boy prefect, Mordecai Gorse, were all looking for you!”  
“Harry and I were waylayed on the way beyond the village, to dinner,” Pandora said.  
“Waylayed?! By Highwaymen? How positively Featherston-esque! Life has begun to resemble literature!” Cressida said. “How ever did you get away?”  
“Its quite a long story,” Pandora said.  
“I’m sure you don’t want to relive it. Well…hazards of dating Harry Potter, I suppose,” Cressida said. “As the American film says, ‘hold onto your seats, its going to be a bumpy night’.”  
“What?” Pandora said.  
“Oh, you know. There was all that business at the Triwizard Tournament, and they say that there’s a prophecy…Tom Riddle, the Slytherin Magister, is determined to kill him because of it,” Cressida said. “He’s not a bad-looking boy, dashed nice and veritably heroic at Quidditch…but I wouldn’t be intrepid enough to date him. He’s a walking target.”  
“Harry isn’t a target, he’s a human being. And he’s a wonderful person,” Pandora said.  
“Yes, yes, but anyone beside him is a target, too,” Cressida said. “Are you sure you want to keep seeing him?”  
“Its not that simple, Cressie. You see, Harry and I aren’t just dating. We’re Fated. When we met, we found a Red Chord connecting us,” Pandora said.  
“No!” Cressida gasped. “Really? You know, I heard that insufferably flaky Gryffindor girl Lavender Brown had one too, to a young Centaur boy called Serpentarius who’s part of the herd in the Fantastical Beasts menagerie. Her parents have called her home to keep them apart. Its quite irregular, isn’t it? A witch and a Centaur? I mean, a fish and a bird may love each other, but where ever would they live?”  
“A fish may come to the surface, and a bird may land on the water. Maybe you can’t spend all your time together in every setting, but there may yet be a place where you can be together for a little while,” Pandora said.  
Cressida smiled appreciatively. “You are a romantic! I admire that. I may have a mystical streak, but I’m afraid when it comes to matters of the heart, I am lethally sensible.”  
“I can understand that-you only have the one heart,” Pandora said.  
Cressida nodded. “I feel rather guilty when a boy likes me and I can’t seem to like him back. Because I know I’m breaking his heart, even though that’s not what I want to do.”  
“I rather recently found myself in such a predicament. No one has the right to expect your heart as payment for their own feelings. Go with your truth,” Pandora said.  
“Thank you, Pandora! And don’t mind anything I tell you-destiny has its reasons,” Cressida said. “Come on, we’ve got Alchemy. The new professor is a Warlock! You’ve come to Hogwarts at just the right time, dear: life is finally getting interesting!”  
As Pandora and Cressida went downstairs and were crossing the Common Room, Kashmira Singh and a boy who looked like a young Prince Charles came up to them.  
“Pandora Black!” said the boy. “Professor Sinistra informed us that you had been found. We’re relieved to see that you’re well. I’m Mordecai Gorse.”  
“How do you do?” Pandora said, and extended her hand.  
“Well, thanks,” Mordecai said.  
“Thank you for searching for me. I do apologize for the time out from your duties,” Pandora said.  
“Any Ravenclaw student in danger is our top priority,” Kashmira said. “Pandora, I understand that you were in the company of Harry Potter, when a series of dangerous events took place. Gryffindor students are known for being troublemakers. Ravenclaw students, however, are not. Our Coven is known for discipline in our thoughts and detachment in the face of conflict. If this is how you plan to represent our Coven, I suggest you consider a transfer to Slytherin-your father’s Coven. You do have a choice.”  
“And, I chose Ravenclaw,” Pandora said. “Does everyone here blame Harry for his misfortunes? Are we to make him a pariah and a leper, as Voldemort has made him a target, and an orphan? He had to grow up without his parents, and we have as little right as Voldemort did to murder Mr. and Mrs. Potter to condemn him to the rest of his life without friends. I know that dangerous things could happen when I’m beside Harry, but I also know Harry. And I’m not leaving him because of anyone else’s recommendation.”  
Kashmira’s air of authority shrank, and she looked like merely an embarrassed girl.  
“I’m sorry…I have to think of the good of Ravenclaw. Our Coven…” she said.  
“Is, I understand, known for its impartial judgement, not condemnation of the less fortunate,” Pandora said.  
“I…I’m sorry, Pandora,” Kashmira said.  
Mordecai looked uncomfortable, his resemblance to Prince Charles starting to morph more to the likeness of Mad Magazine’s Alfred E. Newman if his famous smile were a motion sick grimace. Breaking up arguing girls was, it seemed, not the strongest of his skills at maintaining law and order.  
“I fear I just made an enemy,” Pandora told Cressida, as they went out into the bustling corridors of the castle.  
“Kashmira? No. She can get a little full of herself, but you’ll rub along better now that she knows you’re not intimidated by her, actually,” Cressida said. “Why didn’t you pick Slytherin, though? Just curious.”  
“I left the Vale for a reason,” Pandora said. “I was drawn to Ravenclaw’s political neutrality…but, I didn’t realize that anyone would see being involved with Harry as picking a side.”  
“He’s about as Gryffindor as it gets, isn’t he? In fact, some people seem to think he could be the Heir of Godric Gryffindor…but, that’s just another rumor. A lot of rumors sprung up when he came to school…the last of the boys born on the day of the comet,” Cressida said.  
“A comet?” Pandora said. Neither her uncle and his cohorts, nor Professor Snape in their long discussions, had ever mentioned this.  
“Yes. A comet passed on the first night of the Sign of the Phoenix. Voldemort killed all the little boys born on that night, because one of them was prophesied to be a great wizard. I guess Harry’s parents hid him somewhere, before they died. It was quite a cause celebre, when he came to school and everything, and was adopted by your uncle, Sirius. People called him ‘The Lost Boy’,” Cressida said.  
“How terribly lonely that must have been!” Pandora said.  
“I suppose I hadn’t thought of that,” Cressida admitted, sounding a little guilty.  
The girls waded through the waves of bodies, other students in dark robes lined with the colors of their coven.

Harry didn’t have Defense Against the Dark Arts class that period, but he wanted to talk to Professor Fortune. He poked his head into Fortune’s empty classroom and saw a young black woman with a long ponytail, wearing skinny jeans and a sweater, sitting in a student’s chair, listening to music on white earbuds.  
“How’d she get those to work here? Electronics always go fritz, with all the magic in the air,” Ron said.  
“That is impressive,” Hermione said.  
The girl looked over at them, and noticed them, stars appearing in her bright dark eyes as she did so.  
“Hey, are you guys looking for Robbie?” she asked, in an American accent. “He’s in the supply closet, I’ll fetch him.”  
“Thanks,” Harry said. She was a little older than them, but really beautiful-sienna skin, bright eyes, a friendly, round face a sweet smile, and an ample, curvy figure beneath her casual Muggle clothes.  
Hermione nudged him, to discourage his appraisal.  
The American girl went to fetch Fortune, who appeared in the arched stone doorway, wearing a white shirt with his sleeves rolled up, a navy blue waistcoat and dark wine tie, and navy blue slacks.  
“Harry, this is Natalie Hastings. Nat’s my Apprentice,” Fortune said.  
She waved.  
“Robbie carts me around the world, I follow him and learn stuff,” Natalie joked. “I think its mutually beneficial.”  
Fortune looked at her fondly, and hugged her around the waist.  
She swatted him, and said, “Hey, not in front of the developing young minds! Harry is probably here about that energy work you were supposed to do with him.”  
“Timing, love-timing is everything. I heard you had a rough go of it, last night,” Fortune said.  
“Death Eaters jumped me outside the school, lured me and Pandora, my godsister, into a werewolf trap,” Harry said. “I feel like shite that she got in the middle of it, and got hurt. Just like my parents, just like Cedric. You said you were here to help me, for my mum. I hope that you can.”  
“This is the third time Voldemort has tried to take your life. I get it. You’re angry. Anger feels like fuel, but its really a distracting emotion, and distraction can be fatal. You gotta get loose, kid,” Fortune said.  
Harry frowned in confusion. “Loose?”  
“Yeah. Relax!” Fortune said.  
“Bloody relax? When Voldemort is enthralling Muggles to shoot each other with semi-automatic weapons, blow each other up on trains and buses, and stab each other in crowds? When kids my age are believing his rhetoric about making magic great again, and joining his army? When he’s turning werewolves and using them to intimidate people who won’t clear out of his way? And you want me to relax?” Harry said.  
As Ron and Hermione watched, Harry was lifted off the ground and thrown across the classroom, into a couch at the back of the room where he lay sprawled, and gasping. Fortune was holding his palm out. He had clearly launched an attack on Harry, but Ron and Hermione couldn’t figure out how. He hadn’t used a wand.  
“Robbie…can’t you keep it classy, for once?” Natalie said.  
“How did you do that?” Harry gasped.  
“Didn’t see it coming, didja?” Fortune asked.  
“Where do you feel it?” Fortune asked.  
Harry’s chest heaved as he caught his breath, and he couldn’t answer, so he put his hand on his upper abdomen.  
“That place on the body is called your solar plexus,” Fortune said. “It has different names in various culture: the Middle Dan Tian, the Manipura Chakra. It’s like the King’s Cross Station of your body’s meridian system. Energy travels there, from up and down, and you draw on that place to direct the energy outside.”  
“Where does the energy come from?” Harry asked.  
“Everywhere. Everything is energy. Even objects that appear solid are actually made up of oscillating molecules,” Hermione said.  
“Bingo! Smart girl. When we do magic, we draw on huge amounts of energy that Norms aren’t able to,” Natalie said, using the Americanism for Muggle. “And, we channel it in various ways according to our intention. Our spells are ways to focus our intention and direct energy.”  
“I really didn’t see that coming,” Harry said, getting back on his feet.  
“Exactly! You were distracted. If you’re going to keep your intention clear, you have to keep your mind clear. When you’re angry, you’re off your guard. Get grounded, get calm, and I can teach you how to channel energy and direct it, without a wand, without any words,” Fortune said.  
“What’s the first step, then? How do we relax our minds?” Ron asked.  
“Glad you asked, Mr. Weasley,” Fortune said. “You lot, I want you to meet me and Nattie in the Forbidden Forest after classes, tonight. We’re going to work on drawing the energy you need from the earth, and channeling it throughout your meridians.”  
“Will this help me defeat Voldemort?” Harry asked.  
“Should do, somehow or another. And probably good for your blood pressure, too,” Fortune said.  
Natalie looked bemusedly at Fortune.  
“Don’t worry-you can still use a wand if you want to. And spells. This will give everything you do a little more oomph,” Natalie said.  
“Is this how people generally practice in America?” Hermione asked.  
“Well, its pretty laissez faire, out there. But, I think you’ll get the hang of it,” Natalie said, and gave Hermione a wink, letting her know she had noticed how clever she was.  
“Harry,” Pandora said, as she entered the room with other incoming Ravenclaws heading into the room for Defense Against the Dark Arts.  
She smiled brightly. “I thought we had class with Slytherin this period!” she said, and hugged Harry.  
His arms wrapped around her, she settled into his embrace. It felt so natural, so soon. "Oh, you have. We were just stopping by to talk to Professor Fortune," Hermione said. Pandora looked to Hermione, then back to Harry.  
“Are you all right? You look as if you’ve fallen from a horse!” she said, caressing his face in concern.  
“Or a hippogriff?” Harry asked.  
“Perhaps” Pandora said, smiling.  
“Its nothing. Practicing a defense method with Professor Fortune,” Harry said.  
“Please, call me Rob,” Fortune said.  
“I can’t call a Professor ‘Rob’!” Hermione said.  
Ron smirked, and suppressed a laugh.  
“I’ll see you in Herbology, okay?” Harry said, and gave Pandora a kiss on the cheek. He, Ron and Hermione left.  
Pandora got settled in a desk on the Ravenclaw side. There were dark mutters on the Slytherin side: one of ‘their’ girls was kissing a Gryffindor boy, and they were predictably mutinous.  
An aloofly handsome, slender black boy she recognized as Blaise Zabini said when Harry was quite gone from the room, “Perhaps no one’s told you, Coz, but the Potters are all blood traitors. Rather like going to tea at a plague house, getting involved with that one.”  
“Besides the fact that you, Miss Black, are betrothed,” said Deverell Eastling, a boy so handsome it was sinister. His outward perfection seemed to promise a luciferian betrayal.  
“And what does that matter to you?” Pandora asked.  
Eastling sneered at her, looking her up and down and then boring into her eyes as if looking into her and seeing nothing of use. “Turn around. Don't address me, blood traitor," he spat coldly.  
Pandora drew her wand from the pocket of her robe, and would have turned Eastling into ashes if she hadn’t felt a hand on her wrist.  
She turned around to face the person who’d intervened, and it was Kashmira.  
“Don’t. They’re not worth it,” Kashmira said. “I’m reporting that, by the way. To Dumbledore, I guess, since Slytherin is between Coven Guardians, at the moment. Professor Snape abruptly departed.”  
“I heard,” Pandora said bitterly.  
Kashmira looked at Pandora as if trying to read her. “I’m sorry for what I said, this morning. I see why you didn’t choose Slytherin.”  
“To boys like that, I’m always supposed to be there. Just there-somewhere accessible, when and where they want me, to say and do all the right things. Its not my honor as a lady they are offended to see sullied, it is their entitlement which feels threatened, that I have made my own choice,” Pandora said.  
“I always thought that being a Ravenclaw meant staying out of trouble, especially all of this Slytherin versus Gryffindor stuff. But…it runs deeper. I shouldn’t have just assumed Harry was a troublemaker, and you would get Ravenclaw dragged into his drama,” Kashmira.  
“I think Muggles would say…’You jumped the gun’, there, Kash,” said Cressida, who seemed to relish trying out Muggle sayings and quotes from Muggle films.  
“I did,” Kashmira said. “But, watching those boys throw around ugly words like that showed me that Pandora didn’t bring any of this on herself, and nor has Harry Potter. Shall we start over?”  
Pandora smiled. “Yes, of course,” she said, and extended her hand to shake Kashmira’s, as if they were being introduced all over again.  
“Aw, not exactly world peace, but we’re getting somewhere!” said Somachandra, looking at his sister and Pandora with a friendly smile. Mordecai slid into the chair behind him, looking far more secure than he had that morning.  
“Shut up, or I’ll take points,” Kashmira said.  
“For what?” Somachandra pleaded.  
“Simply because you’re an eyesore,” Kashmira said.  
Mordecai, Cressida, and Pandora laughed.  
“All right, all right,” Fortune said, calling the class to order. “Today, we’re talking about Vampires, and don’t any of you lot swoon. They aren’t found native to the average American high school, they don’t sparkle, or drive Volvos.”  
Those familiar with Muggle culture, mostly on the Ravenclaw side, laughed heartily. Pandora was mystified.  
“He’s talking about a book. Sort of like the Muggle Hawksmoor, a horrid romance,” Cressida whispered.  
“Oh,” Pandora said.  
“Vampires will be extinct by the end of the next war, so what’s the point in learning about them?” Eastling drawled.  
“Who says there’s going to be any war?” Fortune said firmly.  
Eastling looked smug, and said, “Oh, some people just seem to believe its going that way,” in a condescendingly innocent voice.  
Zabini looked at him with weary disgust. Pandora tried to read the scene between them: did Blaise not share his friend’s bald sympathy for Lord Voldemort’s cause?  
She told herself these Vale boys were none of her business anymore. They were no longer Draco’s friends, and they thought she was a blood traitor....  
“Any more of that Make Magic Great Again bullshit in my class, and I’ll withdraw you. You can take Defense again next year, with a teacher who can stand to look at you. I lost friends to Riddle, and I don’t want to hear his vile thoughts coming out of your pimply mouth. We clear?” Fortune said.  
Eastling’s preppy handsomeness was marred by hatred in his eyes, which gave his mouth a twisted, glowering shape. He smoothed his emotions over into a beautiful mask, and said,  
“Yes, sir.”  
“Vampires are one of the Magical Beings best known to Muggles. They’ve compiled generations of documentation, myth and legend about them, and most of it is fairly accurate. This continues to the present day. Does anyone know why that may be? Why would vampires, creatures so elusive amongst Wizards, would be so comparatively visible to Muggles?” asked Fortune’s Apprentice, Natalie, a young American woman.  
“Hope she drops the chalk,” sniggered the Slytherins, alluding to her curvy figure and ample bottom.  
Kashmira’s hand shot up, and Fortune called on her.  
“Because, Vampires feed on Muggles more commonly than Wizard. Wizards have more recourse to ward them away and fight them off. Muggles are more vulnerable, and therefore a more reliable source of food,” she said.  
“Bingo. It’s like the difference between robbing a liquor store and Fort Knox,” Fortune said. “One’s a 50/50 chance of success, at least, the other is too much bloody trouble.”  
“What’s Fort Knox?” Pandora whispered.  
“It’s a great storehouse where the American Muggle government keeps all their money,” Kashmira said.  
Between his openly anti-Riddle statement, and frequent allusions to living amongst Muggles, Pandora predicted that the Slytherins would rally their powerful parents to start trouble for him.  
“A Vampire is a Magical Being who is infected with a virus, rather like lycanthropy in the case of werewolves. Both viruses cause a near insatiable hunger for human blood. The viruses may even be related. But, I ain’t an alchemist, can’t speak to that. What I do know, is that its like a Pyrrhic gift. You get fabulous abilities, like the power to read minds, fly, super strength, a long life span, the ability to hypnotize humans into doing your bidding, but you get that abominable hunger. That hunger drives the Vampire to bestial acts as, over time, their nature becomes more like a predator in the wild than a human. They have little remorse, and stalk and kill by instinct,” Fortune lectured.  
“How do you fight off a Vampire?” Gorse asked, with a concentrated frown, his pen poised to take notes.  
“There’s little a Muggle can do against them, because of their superior strength and telepathic ability to incapacitate,” Fortune said.  
“Perhaps you’ve failed to notice, but we’re not Muggles. I think he meant, how would a Wizard go about it?” said Blaise in a bored drawl. This drew laughter from both the Slytherin and Ravenclaw sides of the room, but Pandora, Mordecai, and the Singh siblings did not laugh.  
Fortune went over some Stunning spells that worked for putting off vampires, as well as charms, rituals, amulets, and incantations.  
“Could a Vampire have once been a Wizard?” Pandora asked.  
Fortune looked at her, and after a long look, answered, “Yeah. Wizards are organically similar enough to Muggles that the Vampire and Lycanthrope contagions are some of the few diseases that affect us the same as them. But, they’ll lose things over time.”  
“Lose things?” Pandora repeated questioningly.  
“Yeah. Certain abilities they had before the transformation,” Fortune said. “and, a certain human outlook. They become more predatory in their thinking, in the way they view risk and reward, their capacity for empathy, things like that.”  
“A rather intriguing study posits that humans who have committed serial murder may be, in some cases, ghouls who don’t know they carry the vampire contagion,” Natalie said. “What Muggle psychiatrists and psychologists call sociopathy or antisocial personality disorder is remarkably similar to the symptoms of Vampirism’s neurological effects.”  
“What’s a ghoul?” Mordecai asked.  
“A ghoul is someone who’s been bitten by a vampire, but hasn’t taken in the Vampire’s blood. So, they have a half existence-transformed into something like a vampire, but still more human than a vampire,” Fortune said.  
“Do they age?” Pandora said.  
"Slowly," Natalie said.  
Of course, she didn’t know if Snape was a vampire, and when or if he had been bitten or shared a vampire’s blood. But, he had known her family for years, been her uncle’s friend and later her tutor, and she’d say he had been a fairly frequent visitor at Malfoy Manor. Adults always looked rather the same to children, but she was sure he had aged…he was less slender than when she was a girl and he was a younger man, there were wrinkles beginning to appear, rather prematurely, at his brow and eyes…  
Could he be a ghoul?  
He had bitten her neck, maybe, if she hadn’t been dreaming, the way a Vampire would do…He had manipulated and intimidated her, at times, and at others seemed to be apologizing and attempting to be more gentle with her. Proposing marriage to a young woman of a higher class than himself, his student, who was engaged to another, seemed like the shameless act of a gauche man…or perhaps it was a vampire’s erring towards risk to get the reward they wanted. She had felt hunger in his energy that night in the Folly Tower, and assumed it was sexual. What if Snape had thirsted for her blood, rather than her body, and that night in the Three Broomsticks she was simply too close, he had been fighting too long not to let his nature take over, and he couldn’t fight it anymore.  
“ ‘The Vampyre’ by John Polidori was the first piece of literature rather than legend or church documentation to fictionally depict a Vampire in action, but pretty faithfully records the Vampire’s methods of attack: masquerading as a human, getting emotionally close to their victim, psychically attacking and physically weakening them, and feeding on their blood when they are too weak to either fight back, or survive. Later novelists like Anne Rice captured another aspect of the Vampire’s attack: the vampire’s pheromones heighten at the time of attack, and the human brain registers it in such a way that it leads to the release of hormones like endorphins and oxytocin, as well as adrenaline. These are the same hormones present in the body during the sexual act, and are quite a cocktail,” Natalie said. “In short, the victim enjoys the feeding.”  
“Evil doesn’t beat you over the head and drag you into a cave. It seduces,” Fortune said.  
“I’ve got chills up and down my arms! I need chocolate, ASAP!” Cressida said breathily.  
Evil seduces…Pandora thought. Was Snape evil, or a man who hadn’t chosen his fate and was fighting his nature? A Vampire, a Ghoul, but either way her teacher, who had vowed to protect and serve her. She wondered where he was, but resisted thinking of the Calling Rune.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Silphium was a real plant, with various medicinal applications, used extensively in the ancient world, so extensively that it was overharvested and became extinct. Here it is fictionalized as a rare alchemical substance. 
> 
> Heliopolis, in Ancient Greek and Egyptian mythology, was the city of Phoenixes.

The Vampire’s voice was deceptively gentle and totally devoid of malice as he said, “You failed me, Ghoul. Where is my daughter?”  
Severus Snape resented being called ‘Ghoul’. He had a name, one that his master seldom used. They were bound together, by their vow to Ada, to protect Pandora, and the tainted blood which flowed through both their veins.  
“Pandora is at Hogwarts, and therefore under the care of Albus Dumbledore. As he is the most powerful wizard alive, I would hardly say I left her carelessly exposed to danger,” Snape said coldly, and poured himself a brandy from the array of crystal decanters on a table in the corner. He and the Vampire had lived comfortably in 12, Grimmauld Place, the Black family home, since it fell derelict upon the death of its owners.  
“Your instructions were to make her your apprentice, convince her to leave the Malfoys, bring her here, to me, to explain, and then we would all decamp to Heliopolis,” the Vampire said. “What went wrong?”  
The Vampire and the Ghoul looked at each other, gray eyes meeting black. They knew each other well, well enough for the Ghoul to know that the Vampire had the answer to his question before it was asked.  
“You fancied that you fell in love with her?” the Vampire said mockingly.  
“She’s beautiful, gentle, brilliant, kind, and there is a fire inside her. But, its different than her mother, which is what neither of us anticipated, where we both failed, in assuming she would be another Ada. She is very, very like, but…when Pandora feels anyone trying to influence her, she retreats into her own confidence and will do anything to be alone and free again. She would fight to the death, I think, to be free. To seek to lead her is to betray her,” Severus said.  
The Vampire allowed himself a small smile, not at his Ghoul but smiling at memories dancing behind his gray eyes.  
“Perhaps a child’s soul speaks to its parents as they select its name. Perhaps Ada and I sensed her nature when we gave her the middle name Alcyone-the kingfisher, the bird that sails above the sea,” Regulus Black said. “You speak prettily, Ghoul, but I refuse to allow you to poetically frame your failure. You scared her off with your rash and bestial actions. What on earth possessed you to drink of her?”  
“I had to be sure that there is, indeed, silphium in her blood,” Severus said.  
“Were you utterly satisfied on this point?” Regulus said. He sat in a velvet wingbacked chair by the fire.  
“Yes. The last source of silphium in the world is…Pandora,” Severus said.  
“If some common or garden, uncouth back alley alchemist were to have her in their hands, she would just be a fount to drain for them, as they use her blood to create panacea,” Regulus said.  
“I have no sanguine hope that there does not live someone so unethical. I used to think Alchemists were…enlightened beings. That to become one would name and order every mystery, to be privy to the secrets of the universe,” Severus said.  
“Yes, Ada shared that blind faith,” Regulus said. “Sometimes, I envied it of both of you.”  
“I had no idea I could ever have claimed to be an object of envy,” Snape said.  
The Vampire laughed.  
“You and Ada had quite an understanding,” Regulus said.  
“I get the impression that you are trying to coerce me into admitting something by playing on an old affection,” Severus said.  
“Is there something to admit?” Regulus asked.  
“Ada was a faithful wife, and in some ways Pandora resembles you even more than her mother. She has your eyes, chiefly,” Severus said. “There is also a certain tilt of her head when she is reading. Are your suspicions quelled?”  
“Did you hope to look into Ada’s eyes again, when you looked into my daughter’s?” Regulus asked.  
“I hoped to see my soul reflected. I hoped to feel that I had one again,” Severus said.  
“I know that you and Ada were never vulgarly intimate. It was the intimacy of your minds that I never felt I could penetrate or rival,” Regulus said.  
“I was her servant. You were her husband,” Severus said.  
“You would have had your wand broken, banished back into the Muggle world, if she had not intervened when you had that schoolboy scrape with James Potter,” Regulus said.  
His voice was mild, as ever, but he knew what a poisoned arrow he had launched and that it would not fail to find its mark. The Sectumsempra incident had changed his life, ended his friendship with Lily Evans, but deepened the one he had with Ada Valancourt, as she interceded for him with her influential father. If not for Sayeed Valancourt’s effectively pulled strings, Severus would have had his wand broken for devising and using such a dark spell in what had otherwise been a typical skirmish between Slytherin and Gryffindor boys. Though he had not been accepted into the Emerald Order, he had been able to accompany Ada there, and serve as her laboratory assistant.  
They had shared every trial and breakthrough of the Dragon Pox epidemic that had raged through Wizardom, and their research had led to a treatment that effectively cured the novel form of the virus. She had gotten the credit, but the way she looked into his eyes always reassured him that the triumph was their’s, their alchemical child.  
Then, there was the child she shared with Regulus, her husband. Ada’s pregnancy weakened her body, particularly her heart. Severus remembered the night he attempted the risky procedure which extracted the fetus and placed it in an alchemical stew that would simulate the womb for the duration of gestation. One of the compounds was silphium, the last supplies of the potent near-panacea on the planet. It had been the yolk of Pandora’s ex utero gestation, and it was in her blood. They had no idea what a miracle and a priceless commodity they were creating, they had just wanted to keep her alive. The Ghoul closed his eyes, and remembered the first time he had looked into her gray eyes, and remembered her mother. Ada and Pandora, the woman who had given him a place by her side, and the girl he had sworn to protect.  
No one but himself cared how much he loved them. The Vampire’s gray eyes, which had none of his daughter’s ever changing emotions, one minute thoughtful, furious, gentle, or delighted, mocked and disregarded that love. He wished that he had been kinder to Pandora when she had needed it. Ghouls were not generally kind-it was a struggle for him to translate love into kindness. But, he did love, privately and therefore with a measure of torment.  
“James Potter is dead. Our schoolboy days, scrapes and the rest of it, are not worth mentioning. It is Pandora’s future, not any of our pasts that we must concern ourselves with. What is next? How shall we protect her?” Snape asked.  
“Well, as we have noted, my initial plan was utterly ruined when you proposed marriage to my daughter, who is not 17. Don’t think I don’t know why. I believe the Americans call it ‘cutting out the middle man’,” Regulus said.  
Severus remained silent.  
Regulus continued, “You thought to take her to Heliopolis yourself, as her husband and Master, and create the wand, the two of you, working side by side as you did Ada. This time, I would be cut out of the equation and you would have the last of Ada to yourself. I know your mind, Ghoul.”  
“I have a name!” Severus snapped.  
“And it is hateful to me. You and I, monster and creation, share this purgatory, and Pandora, for Ada’s sake. For Ada,” Regulus said.  
“For Ada,” Severus agreed. “what is your new plan?”  
“Never seek to betray me again, Ghoul,” Regulus said. “The Lapis, and the notes about the procedure which saved Pandora’s life, are in my family vault in the City of Temples. No one can access it until it is opened upon Pandora’s 17th birthday. You at least succeeded in giving her Ada’s Tabula Smaragdina. She will have the stone and the Codex, two of the Alchemist’s objects, and the stone is hidden in the form of a necklace. The chalice is in Heliopolis, and we shall see to it that Pandora makes it there, and creates the wand. It is her destiny.”  
“And who shall wield it?” Severus asked.  
“The prophecy says the Potter boy,” Regulus said.  
“How will we convey the wand to him?” Severus asked.  
“You are still a wizard. I am not. I leave that duty with you. The Wand of Trismegistus is the only weapon that can defeat the Dark Lord, and Pandora is the only source of the vital component, silphium, left. If the Dark Lord learns of this…” Regulus said.  
“No! He will never have her!” Severus said vehemently.  
The Vampire was satisfied that the Ghoul could be trusted, to die for Pandora if he had to. She had the Calling Rune, with which she could call the Ghoul if she had need to, and it would lead her back to Regulus…to her father, to her destiny.


	28. Chapter 28

Pandora walked with Cressida and Kashmira to the Greenhouse for Herbology. She couldn’t help but get the impression that Kashmira was serving as a sort of bodyguard against possible Slytherin aggression.   
“Your cousin, Draco? Is he ill?” Kashmira asked.  
“Yes,” Pandora lied. “He’s frequently ill. He is being cared for at home.”  
“I do hope that Deverell settles down. Since your Uncle, Draco’s father, is a member of the Guild, Deverell lets Draco play big boss. With him gone, its clear that Eastling thinks he’s in charge-and, he’s nastier. Your cousin hates Gryffindors in the usual way Slytherins do…Eastling is different. Steer clear of him,” Kashmira said.  
“Well, as he thinks I’m a blood traitor, I’ll hardly be seeking him out,” Pandora said.  
“Too right! Just ignore all of that! Its impossible. I mean, how can we possibly ignore everyone who’s Halfblood and Muggle Born? This isn’t the 40s or something, we all mix together, that’s the way the world is now,” Cressida said.  
“Well, people like Eastling want to see nothing short of a roll back of all rights, which they consider overindulgently granted privileges, that people who are not Pureblood do have. They want to go back, and see themselves on top and everyone else either serving them, or out of their way,” Kashmira said.  
Cressida nodded wildly, her brown curly hair bouncing, and her eyes absorbing Kashmira’s words hungrily. Pandora felt more guilty. In the Vale, Squibs born to families of their tenants were servants at Malfoy Manor. She had always been told that it was a kind thing to do, to give them employment that would keep them in the Wizarding community, rather than facing being sent out into the world of Muggles to make a living. But, it was never kind to assume someone else was born to be your servant. She thought of the cold disregard and disgust she had seen in Deverell Eastling’s eyes because she had hugged and kissed Harry, a Halfblood known to be despised by Voldemort. Did such hatred rule the world she had grown up in?  
“Pandora!” Hermione Granger called happily. She did not greet Kashmira and Cressida, and swept Pandora away from her Ravenclaw friends to the Gryffindor tables in the Greenhouse. She gave them an apologetic look over her shoulder.  
“After dinner, I think it’s the perfect time to compare your Tabula Smaragdina to the Alchemical resources section of the library. We can try to decipher your mother’s notes, as well. After that, Professor Fortune wants to teach me, Harry, and Ron energy manipulation in the Forbidden Forest. If you’re going to date Harry, I’m sorry to say that what happened last night is not going to be the last time you find yourself in the line of fire. It would really be prudent if you come with us,” Hermione said.  
“Hermione, breathe. She just really wants you two to be friends, so she’s being weird,” Ron said.   
“I’d love to accompany you! I found Professor Fortune’s lesson fascinating!” Pandora said.  
“Yeah, well, you should have seen him knock Harry clear across the room without a wand or an incantation. That was something else,” Ron said.  
“What? I thought you looked a fright when I walked into his classroom! Was that what you call practice, being manhandled with energy magic?” Pandora said.  
Harry smiled, appreciative that she was concerned. “Dora, really, I’m fine. I told Ron and Mione about Orchard Grange,” he said.  
“I can’t wait to see it!” Hermione said.   
“I had a feeling when we met that you were a toff. You had that ‘to the manor born’ vibe, and I always wanted a rich friend. Good thing to have if the stock market ever crashes and my luck goes,” Ron said.  
Pandora, Hermione, and Harry laughed.   
“So, we’ll see you tonight?” Harry asked.  
“Yes, love. I hope that after I learn Professor Fortune’s methods, you won’t worry so much. I had rather thought you saw last night I could take care of myself, but this morning, when you said that you could take the danger, it sounded like you were saying that I couldn’t,” Pandora said.  
Harry’s beautiful green eyes darkened, redolent with concern.  
“No, but I just don’t want anything or anyone to hurt you, Dora,” Harry said.   
She squeezed his hand.   
“I’m all right,” she said.   
Adrenaline had taken care of any fear she might otherwise have felt. And, maybe the thrilling scenes of Mrs. Featherstone’s novels-heroines escaping out of the window of towers where they have been locked by lustful banditi, hot air balloon chases mid air, and pursuits through recesses in old castles, had prepared her for a life of danger.

Pandora walked back over to the Ravenclaw tables-to Harry’s relief, before Neville arrived in the room. Harry was feeling so many new things, all inspired by her: desire, jealousy, and concern for her safety so penetrating that Harry felt prepared to fight a Giant on her behalf. But, he had been friends with Hermione for years and knew how capable an intelligent woman could be. If Pandora could create spells like ‘Elekron’ and ‘Elekron Magna’, she didn’t need him to be her knight in shining armor. He had to temper his concern with respect and boundaries. 

Professors Sprout and Gray seemed to have a communication channel not enjoyed by the former and Professor Snape, for the Herbology lesson about yarrow complimented Gray’s Potions lesson. The Ravenclaw and Gryffindor students learned about the plant, which cured a wide range of ailments, and was also known as millefleur.  
“The only more widely efficacious magical plant known to Wizardom was probably silphium, but it has been sadly believed extinct for centuries,” Sprout said. “The only clue we have to silphium’s appearance is the symbol for the heart, which is believed to be the shape of its seeds or flowers.”  
After class, Pandora asked Professor Sprout about the Botany Club.  
“I have some of her drawings, here, Professor,” Neville said, and hurriedly pulled one of Pandora’s sketches from their trips in the Vale out of his bag. Pandora was touched, and said, “Oh, Neville, thank you for keeping it!”  
He blushed.  
Sprout looked over her sketch of St. John’s Wort, and nodded appreciatively.   
“Correctly classified. Very well done, Miss Black! I think you’ll thoroughly enjoy Botany Club. Have you ever thought of studying the noble pursuit of botany after Hogwarts?” Sprout said.  
“I’d rather it remained a hobby, to keep my interest pure. I will have it to turn to, when I need to relieve my mind’s burdens,” Pandora said.  
“Well, you’ve certainly thought about the matter!” Sprout chuckled, clearly amused at the idea of one so young having any burdens on their mind. “Our next meeting is Tuesday! I look forward to seeing you there.”  
Neville and Dora high-fived, then she went to join her Ravenclaw friends.  
“Have you joined the Botany Club? Oh, how dull!” Cressida said.   
“Not as bad as Gobstone Club,” Kashmira said. “I suppose Botany Club will look good on your apprenticeship applications. A good understanding of plants is essential if you want to be an Herbologist, a Potioneer, an Alchemist, or a Healer, so it can pan out to something.”  
“I…enjoy botany,” Pandora said, and knew that was not enough for her friends’ calculations of how important Botany Club was. Ravenclaw students were mindful of the impression they gave off, and of their futures. Pandora reminded herself that she had come to Hogwarts to be a serious student of magic, and they were serious students, too.   
Deverell, Blaise, Theodore Knott, and some other Slytherin boys were lounging on the lawn as she, Cressida, and Kashmira made it back to the castle.   
“Don’t look,” Kashmira said.   
The boys were surrounded by younger girls, 4th and 3rd years who giggled and looked at the boys in awe, clearly flattered to be shown attention by upperclassmen from rich families. Pandora felt sickened that these girls were both being fed and believing the idea that the attention of rich men was a prize to be sought and a status to be proud of.  
Transfiguration was their next class, and she was prepared to feel overwhelmed and inferior again. Their task was to turn an unpeeled orange into an orange dessert of each student’s choice-which the students could eat afterwards, but points would be taken from their Coven if they got crumbs everywhere.   
“Miss Black!” McGonagall said sharply. “Stop waving your wand about like that!”  
Pandora said nothing and looked into the Professor’s eyes.   
Now that McGonagall had her attention, the Professor’s voice softened. “Many students commonly assume that Transfiguration, like Charms, is driven by wand work. But, that is not so! Success at Transfiguration depends upon understanding your materials, and imagining what they can be. What do you have before you, Miss Black?”  
“An orange, Professor,” she answered promptly.  
“That’s right. What can an orange be?” McGonagall asked.  
Pandora thought about it. She was not casting a charm, which gave one words to direct one’s intention. She had to focus on the vision, and make it happen. She thought of an orange crème layer cake that the Malfoys’ cook, Mrs. Applethwaite, sometimes made in summer…the moist cake, the subtle tang of citrus in the fresh cream…She waved her wand, her eyes closed, and when she opened them, she saw a slice of cake where the piece of fruit had been.  
“Well done, Miss Black!” McGonagall said. “20 points to Ravenclaw, young lady!” Her classmates, both Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs on the other side of the room, looked happy for her. It was enough to rinse her discomfort at the ugliness of being called a blood traitor by Eastling away, and replace it with happiness.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided that the Malfoy Family and Weasley Family should have a bit more of a backstory, so chapters 8, 12, and 18 have been edited to reflect the new backstory: the Weasleys are healers who once serviced the Malfoys, and Ron, Ginny, Pandora, and Draco were childhood acquaintances before Hogwarts.

Pandora felt triumphant after accomplishing the Transfiguration lesson, and being granted points by McGonagall. The professor was not how Draco had always described her when he told her about Hogwarts, a wizened crone who barked orders at the students. She asked Pandora,  
“Were you tutored at home before you decided to come to school, Miss Black?” after class, as she ate an orange Sherbet sundae one of the students had conjured.  
“Somewhat, ma’am, and I studied on my own, in a manner of speaking. I read as much as I could of my cousin, Draco’s textbooks, the books in my uncle’s library, even interesting things in the newspaper,” Pandora said.  
“Curiosity is the key component of intelligence, Miss Black,” McGonagall said. “I, too, was educated at home, until I kicked up quite a fuss to go to school, and finally wore my father down. He was proud of me, in the end, and I think your family, if you have received any resistance, will be proud of what you make of yourself here, too. Remember, when you Transfigure, visualize your desired result, and it will manifest.”  
“Thank you, Professor,” Pandora said heartily.  
Somachandra, Cressida, Kashmira, and Mordecai were waiting for her, and she caught up with them.  
“See? You blew her skirt up,” Somachandra said.  
Kashmira and Cressida both slapped his arm on either side, getting a laugh out of Mordecai and Pandora.  
“Well done, Pandora. Now, let’s see if Mordecai can make us proud this Friday. Quidditch, against Gryffindor-he plays Seeker,” Kashmira said.  
“Really, Mordecai? And a Prefect? That’s quite impressive,” Pandora said.  
He looked pleased, but said, “Don’t get your hopes up about me. We always lose to Gryffindor. Harry Potter, he’s probably going to play pro, one day.”  
“Where are you going to sit, anyway? Which team are you going to be rooting for?” Somachandra teased.  
“As a matter of course, she will have to root for Harry, and I perfectly understand,” Mordecai said.  
“Don’t be daft! She’s sitting with us, we’re going to scream bloody murder cheering for you, and you’re going to catch the Snitch!” Cressida said.  
“Well, not with you screaming at me, it will be rather distracting,” Mordecai said.  
Pandora enjoyed being with them, but it was a bit of a dilemma-she was a Ravenclaw, her new friend was on the Ravenclaw team, but her boyfriend was on the Gryffindor team and the better player between the two of them.  
“I hope it’s a draw!” she said.  
They all laughed, and Mordecai said, “Oh, no, you don’t want that: then I’ll have to play Harry again! Nice chap, but I don’t enjoy losing to him, actually!”  
He rattled off several memorable games, and spectacular captures of the Snitch that Harry had made. She enjoyed hearing of his triumphs and looked forward to seeing them in person. Their next class was History of Magic. Professor Binns was discussing the role of Merlin in the early history of Britain. A Hufflepuff called Roger Shepherd kept interjecting during Professor Binns’ lecture, that Merlin was a warmongering kingmaker and pawn of the Muggle King Arcturus Aurelianus, who had helped the king expand his empire, Camelot, into territory like Avalon and Broceliande that belonged to the Faeries.  
“Its genocide!” Roger insisted.  
A snub-nosed blonde whose face would be pleasant if she wasn’t wearing a coldly outraged glower, Posy Larch, backed him up, saying, “Those Faerie kingdoms were matriarchal. Arthur replaced them with a patriarchal dictatorship, and villainized the sorceress Morgana for fighting for her people’s freedom!”  
“Order, Order!” Binns called, as if he was on the floor of the Guild, as students on the Huffflepuff and Ravenclaw sides disagreed back and forth, for or against Roger and Posy.  
“Is History usually this spirited? I thought we’d learn about the building of Stone Henge, or something!” Pandora said.  
“Shep’s the resident working class hero around here. He’s always trying to circulate a petition or stage a protest of some sort on the school lawn. He’s really on this Merlin kick-he sent round a petition to get the stained glass window of him removed from the library. Symbol of imperialism, he calls it,” Somachandra said.  
“What do you think, Dora? I suppose he has a point, he’s just so aggro about it,” Cressida said.  
“I think if he disrupts class, we don’t finish the lesson, and we fail our exam on whatever the lesson was meant to be about,” Dora said.  
Kashmira met her eye and nodded slowly and emphatically in agreement.  
“Why are there no trolls, no ogres, no goblins, no rustic and trooping faeries, no werewolves, at Hogwarts? Why do we differentiate between them and ourselves? We keep magical creatures in menageries as curiosities, when are we not magical creatures?” Roger demanded.  
“That’s a question for your Care of Magical Creatures professor-I read history, Mr. Shepherd,” said Professor Binns, getting a laugh out of students like Kashmira and Pandora who just wanted the scene to be over.  
“Now,” Professor Binns said, “Merlin’s accomplishment of Stone Henge was notable for its scale. However, earlier stone circles can be found in the Orkney Islands. For instance…”  
Pandora dutifully took notes, but she thought about Roger’s words. There was Dr. Lupin, her uncle’s “dear friend”: he was certainly a wizard, but also a werewolf. He had clearly been to Hogwarts, and educated as a wizard, but he’d told Harry and Dora that he hadn’t manifested lycanthropy symptoms until he was 14. Would a child who was pronouncedly a werewolf by 11 be denied a magical education? That was no more fair than denying girls an education so that they could focus on being wives and mothers…It had never before occurred to her that magical creatures may want to come to a school like Hogwarts. She realized that she had been raised to think that they lived differently, and must be content with their lot…but what if their lot had been shaped by larger forces just as her own had been?  
After class, she walked to the grand staircase whose gallery led to doorways to the staircases of each common room with her Ravenclaw friends. She spied Harry, Ron, and Hermione, and waved them over.  
“Mort! Ready for Friday?” Harry asked happily.  
“Looking forward to it, Potter,” Mordecai said. “How’s practice?”  
They chatted Quidditch, while Kashmira ran Roger’s scene by Hermione.  
“Well, I can’t say he’s wrong, really, but there’s something lacking in his delivery. If he ever wants to sit in the Guild, he’ll have to learn that shouting people down is not the only way to get his point across, and his own opinions are not the height of moral value,” Hermione said.  
“I’d love to see the two of you in debate!” Kashmira said.  
“There’s no debate club at Hogwarts, Kash!” Hermione said.  
“There bloody would be if you started one already, ‘Mione!” Kashmira said.  
“Yeah, what’s the holdup-no one argues like you!” Ron said.  
“I’ll talk to Professor McGonagall,” Hermione said.  
“Do!” Cressida urged.  
Content that their two groups of friends were getting along fine, Harry and Dora held hands and slipped away to a stained glass window of the sorceress Morgana, whom Roger had mentioned. Her hair was as red as Harry’s mother’s had been in her wedding photograph at Orchard Grange.  
“Actually, when Roger started in, I thought of Dr. Lupin. There must be many people like him, who are both wizard and something else…I never thought of those people being kept from school. Maybe he would have been, too, if his lycanthropy had begun sooner. It’s no different than girls being kept from school. Boys like my cousin, Draco, they are allowed in because they are the sons of powerful wizards from rich families, and will grow up to inherit their father’s place in the world. It wouldn’t do for a woman, or an ogre, or a half-faerie to take those places of power and change the status quo,” Dora told Harry. “Who decides all this?”  
“It was all decided a long time ago. Its all handed down, now, its tradition. But, the world has changed a lot, and its changing more and more. I don’t think a fight for old traditions that don’t work anymore is ever going to be successful,” Harry said.  
Pandora kissed his cheek. “You understand,” she said.  
“Of course! You’re right: Dr. Lupin does face a lot of discrimination. Before Sirius joined the Guild, after his father died, we lived pretty hand to mouth. He was a motorcycle mechanic, and Dr. Lupin’s only a First Degree Healer. Werewolves can’t be Second Degree or Master Healers-don’t know if its illegal, exactly, or just not likely to happen. Luckily Hogsmeade’s a small town, and if people like you here, they like you, and don’t let anyone else tell them what to think about it. He does a lot of procedures for them that’s actually for a Second Degree or Master Healer to do, but they don’t narc on him, and where they can’t always pay him in Galleons they give us what they can,” Harry said.  
“So, life improved when my uncle took his seat?” Dora said.  
“In some ways. He’s gone a lot. And, I felt betrayed. After the Dark Trial, I guess I felt like he was working with the enemy. The Guild investigated what happened, and said it was inconclusive. Like I was lying about Voldemort coming back. They held me for questioning in the Hall of Justice. There are cells, down there, below the Hall…” Harry said hauntedly, his green eyes darkened by shadows.  
Dora was horrified. When she read about the Triwizard Tournament, the teenage magic competition that had turned into a nightmare ordeal and resulted in the death of Harry’s classmate, she had felt a strong, earthshaking conviction that the world shouldn’t be that way, and that the Riddle her Uncle Lucius followed and the madman she read about could not be the same people-if they were, her uncle was severely in the wrong. She felt it even more, now.  
“Harry…” she said, horrified. She touched his arm, and looked into his eyes.  
He caressed her face, and said, “The world needs to change, Dora. Its true. We have to believe that its already changing, and that people are working on doing the right things, and we’ll get to do our bit somehow or another.”  
She smiled, and kissed him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and held her close. As they pulled away to breathe, she said, “I can believe it when I’m with you, Harry.”  
He exhaled in a stuttering sigh that struck an answering tremble of heat beneath Dora’s skin. She thought of almost making love to him at Orchard Grange, at Buttershaw Hall, in the Astronomy Tower. Whatever force had brought them together and woven the red chord of fate, it wanted them to come together, like two alchemical elements brough to boil and melding in the heat around them. But, it kept not happening. Dora felt the frustration, which had an unbearable sweetness. She looked into Harry’s dark green eyes, he felt it too. He caressed her lower back, and then her bottom.  
“Dora…” he said imploringly. She knew why, she felt his body against her’s, felt how the heat between them was affecting him. She dared to press a kiss against his neck, above the collar of his school shirt.  
“We can’t, here,” he said.  
She giggled. “No, not here. Where do you want it to be?”  
“Orchard Grange…” he said.  
“Ooh, the master bedroom, where we slept last night?” she asked.  
“Yes…or…”Harry said, his breath hitching as she kissed him again in the same soft place on his neck.  
“Or?” Dora asked.  
“The place in our dreams. The meadow, by the orchard…” he said.  
Dora had never thought of that, but she was thinking of it now, lying in the violets, apple blossoms and their perfume on the wind, as she welcomed Harry’s body into her’s…  
“There you two are!” Hermione said, and she and Ron came over to the window. “We’re still going to the library, aren’t we, to examine Dora’s Tabula Smaragdina?”  
Harry and Dora broke apart. Ron smirked-she had broken in on him and Draco, now the shoe was on the other foot. They met each other’s eyes with amusement at the irony.  
“Yeah. The Library. Of course,” Harry said. He looked at Dora, into her eyes, and she knew he had seen her fantasy of them in the meadow.

Ron, Harry, and Hermione went to the library. The Alchemical section was on the second floor.  
“Now, let’s see what we’ve got,” Hermione said.  
Dora produced the Tabula. On the first page was the alchemical poem about the Lapis or Philosopher’s Stone:  
“The Sun is its Father,  
the Moon its Mother,  
the wind bears it in its womb, and it is nursed by the earth…”  
“Sun:fire, Moon: water, the wind bears it, the earth nurses it. So, what’s being described here is the process by which the Lapis comes to be, that all the different elements are brought together,” Hermione said.  
She turned the page, and the illustrations of the alchemical process began. The pages were stiff, but fragile, and the illustrations were vividly painted in bright colors with a sheen which probably denoted paint made of powdered jewels and crystals. They almost resembled Tarot cards, with their pictures of figures in aristocratic finery who seemed to be acting out symbolic functions related to the story of the Philosopher’s stone.  
“Luna, the Moon. She symbolizes mercury, and water,” Pandora said, at a picture of a queenly woman with long hair in a silver dress, standing on a crescent moon.  
“Yes! When Mercury and Sulfur, or fire and a liquid element, are brought together, it is called the wedding of Luna, the moon, and Sol, the sun. But, important stages involving the elements themselves must occur before they’re ready to be ‘married,’” Hermione said.  
“Sure. They’ve got to live a little, sow some wild oats, get it all out of their system, date a few other people at college…” Ron said. Harry laughed.  
Hermione pointedly ignored them, and said, “Look. This is rubedo-the reddening.”  
The Red King was entrapped in a bell jar, the fires lit beneath him.  
“The fires are lit, and the heat starts to transform the element,” Pandora said.  
“Then there is the albedo, the whitening-the fire intensifies, burning away what is not needed,” Hermione said, turning to a picture of the White Queen in a bell jar, too, nude save for her crown and long hair.  
“Next is the negredo-the dark night of the soul. In the philosophy of alchemy, it is when the Philosopher’s Stone seems most out of reach, when the alchemist has nearly given up hope. But, what is burnt to pulp and ash in the nigredo is actually a rich nutrient bed needed for the coniunctio, the joining stage,” Pandora said.  
The king in the jar was nude, and prostrate, ill and dying. A raven leaned over him like a dark angel, but, signifying the rebirth to follow, a tree sprouted from his navel.  
“Now, those two crazy kids have gotta get married,” Ron said.  
Hermione turned the page. The Red King and White Queen lay nude in each other’s arms inside the bell jar, embracing, their bellies kissing, looking into each other’s eyes, and the sun and moon shone equally down on them.  
Harry’s face felt hot. He looked at Dora, whose gray eyes met his.  
“So, that is a metaphor for not only how the stone is made, but the state of mind of the alchemist as they create it, moving from dualistic opposites to a greater understanding of the universe’s composition, which facilitates a harmony of different aspects of self,” Hermione said.  
“I thought that Alchemy was about making medicine,” Harry said.  
“Practical Alchemy, yes, which Third Degree or Master Healers practice. But, in its most ancient roots, alchemy sought to create the Philosopher’s Stone, which was then used to create Elixir of Life or Panacea, a tonic which conferred immortality,” Hermione said.  
“Do you think my parents were trying to create the Lapis?” Dora asked.  
“Hmm…let’s see! Where do those notes begin?” Hermione said.  
Dora flipped to the pages which bore her mother’s handwriting.  
Hermione examined them with a frown of concentration.  
“This is Latin…but some of the terms around it are in cypher,” Hermione said.  
“What’s Cypher?” Harry asked.  
“Code. Royalty and diplomats in the Renaissance often wrote sensitive information in Cypher. Its rhyme and reason is really left up to the person writing, and their correspondent, who has to be able to understand them. It can be a hybrid of different languages, a numerological code, or symbols of some sort. I’ll have to hold this up to some references on runes, numerology, Latin, Ancient Greek, and French to figure out how your mother comprised her cypher,” Hermione said. “I’m sorry…I wasn’t able to do very much with it, was I?”  
“Hermione, dear, you have been immensely helpful! Don’t worry! And, we’re not done, are we? We’ll research the cypher together,” Pandora said.  
Hermione smiled at Dora, and they held each other’s eyes.  
“Well, we do know that Dora’s mum was writing to someone else, about something sensitive. Do you think it was Snape? He’s the one who gave you the book,” Harry said.  
“If he could make the Elixir of Life he wouldn’t have needed two jobs to pay his tithes,” Ron said.  
“Tithes?” Hermione asked.  
“Oh, yeah. When you grow up, you can’t just belong to the Coven for free, like when you’re in school. You have to pay a tithe, and that covers things like disability, poverty relief, and healthcare for yourself if you ever need it, and other Coven members. The Guild’s got funds for that, too, but they don’t like to come off of them if your Coven can help you out with it. If you can’t pay, you can’t be a member,” Ron explained.  
“Are creatures allowed in Covens?” Harry asked. “Like, for instance, werewolves and people who are Half-Faerie?”  
“Not usually. You gotta be all Wizard. Well, I mean, you could be half Muggle or Muggle born, but you gotta be….” Ron searched for the right word, and Hermione supplied,  
“Human looking.”  
Ron nodded. “Yeah, I guess.”  
“That’s wrong!” Pandora said.  
“Yes, I quite agree,” Hermione said.  
“Well, I suggest that you keep this safe, Dora. I suspect it is far more than a book,” Hermione said. “Who besides me, Ron, and Harry know you have it?”  
“Somachandra and Cressie,” She said, and regretted rashly joining in on their debate about mysticism by volunteering that information.  
“Oh, they’re Ravenclaws: they know how to keep a secret. Just don’t bang on about it again,” Ron said.  
She smiled. He and Draco hadn’t stayed friends after beginning school, and she realized she had missed his earthy good sense.  
“All right. I’ll keep it in my bag, so that its always with me during the day,” She said.  
He nodded, and Hermione looked approving.  
“Oy, we should be heading to the Forest, to meet Fortune,” Harry reminded them, and they began to gather their things.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, today's the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. Even though its a totally fictional event, I've found solace in it, anyway, today. Harry defeated his enemy, Voldemort, and hopefully we can survive and defeat the COVID-19 novel coronavirus. It has changed everything about the world we know, and threatens all that we hold dear...Confronting that every day takes more bravery than we previously thought ourselves capable of, but I believe that we all have it in us to rise to this challenge if we choose to. Be smart, do what you know you are supposed to do, let yourself feel, let go of fear, invite in hope, and feel your feet on the grass when you need to. Take care!

The differences between the Forbidden Forest and the Menagerie were like the dualistically swirling sides of the Tai Chi, or ‘yin and yang’, symbol: identical, save for their colors, one light, the other dark. Where there were rare medicine flowers amongst the flora of the Menagerie, poisons grew on the overgrown footpaths of the Forbidden forest. Where wise and elusive centaurs lived in peace in the Menagerie, one was more likely to encounter a chimera or manticore in the Forest. However, it was possible to stay safe there. However fearsome the monsters, they thrived on darkness, and pulled their victims into its darkest corners when they were already lost and stumbling in the dark. They avoided the light, and if one carried light they could cut a bright path ahead of themselves.  
“Lux,” Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Pandora said, and their wands became torches as they navigated the tree roots and ravines, gorges and overgrowth.  
Pandora wore a Ravenclaw sweater and jeans, and her red shawl wrapped around her like a mantle against the cold.  
“I hate that you have to do this,” Harry said. “If you were dating some normal bloke, you wouldn’t be hiking through a forest at night to learn how to protect yourself.”  
“Don’t blame yourself for Voldemort’s actions. A world with him in it is a dangerous one-we must all protect ourselves,” Pandora said.  
“There’s that Ravenclaw wisdom,” Harry said, and kissed Dora’s cheek.  
“Where did Fortune say he was meeting us, again?” Ron asked Hermione.  
“I’m going to assume, there,” Hermione said.  
It was inky violet night behind them, but the river running before them was dappled with sunlight, as were the pine trees bordering a stone mill house on the other side of the stream, its large wooden wheel churning the water and breaking its reflection of the green trees and stone house into a palette of grey, brown, and green.  
There was a small, curved wooden bridge over the water, and Natalie Hastings was walking towards them, to meet them.  
“Hi, guys! Did you make it through the forest okay?” she asked.  
“Yes, but…where is this place?” Harry asked. “Why is it day here, when its night at the Castle?”  
“Well, we’re kind of in between times and places,” Natalie said.  
“Like the Tesseract!” Hermione said.  
“The Who-seract? The Tesse-what?” Ron said.  
“One of my favorite books growing up, A Wrinkle in Time,” Hermione said. “It’s about time travel.”  
“Not bad! Yeah, Robbie opened a Rift, and created a Pocket: a little room of paused time,” Natalie said. “Technically, right now we’re in Virginia, where me and Robbie live. Its always been kind of a magic sanctuary in America. When witches were being outed and accused up north in the Massachusetts Bay Colony, only one woman in the history of the colony of Virginia was ever publicly accused of witchcraft. Her name was Grace Sherwood, and when the witch judges tried to swim her to see if she’d sink or float, she swam to safety!”  
“What happened to her after that?” Hermione said.  
“She lived into old age. alone in a cabin in the woods, and refused to get a mailbox when the postal service began. The colonial officials didn’t press the issue,” Natalie said.  
The kids laughed, and Ron said, “Why do Muggles always think witches can’t swim? Of all the stupid stereotypes…”  
Natalie waved her hand and said, “Come on, follow me.”  
The four teens followed her across the bridge, and up to the weathered, raw wooden door of the mill house. Harry noticed that a large, Egyptian looking eye was carved onto the door. He had seen it on some Black family heirlooms, like goblets, that had been left to Sirius after his father’s death. “Whole lot’s probably cursed,” Sirius had grumbled, and called a service that broke curses on antique objects and resold them.  
“It’s the Eye of Horus, or Thoth,” Natalie said. “In Egyptian mythology, he was the god of wisdom. He was the son of Osiris, the first pharaoh, and the goddess of life, Isis. He lost one eye in exchange for wisdom, so that eye is now a symbol of protection. One of the most powerful protection symbols, in fact.”  
“Its one of my family’s runes,” Pandora said.  
“Wow! Your family has Runes? You must go way back,” Natalie said.  
“To Ancient Egypt, so our family claims,” Pandora said, with a touch or irony, as if she doubted it.  
“Some Pureblood families sort of have their own language…” Ron explained, to Harry and Hermione, who looked curious. “Its almost like having a family crest, or coat of arms. Some of them are Angelic runes, some of them are Egyptian, Phoenician, Norse, whatever.”  
Ron always made these facts about Pureblood wizard life, common knowledge to him, sound like no big deal, but Harry would be lost without Ron’s inside-out knowledge of their world. Magic still felt new to him.  
“And our’s are Egyptian. Look,” Dora said, drawing everyone’s attention to the symbols on her shawl. Harry had just assumed they were flowers and Paisleys, but when he looked closer now he saw they were hieroglyphs, one of which was the Eye of Horus.  
“Are they all for protection?” Harry asked.  
“I’m not sure. My aunt Narcissa gave it to me-it was her’s as a girl,” Pandora said.  
“Well, if they are, a word of advice: all the symbols in the world can’t protect you if you don’t believe in safety,” Natalie said.  
“What do you mean?” Pandora asked.  
“People turn to all kinds of things to feel better, and forget to believe that they have it in them to feel better. And, they turn to symbols and rituals, deities and other people to be protected, but their fear of danger is bigger than their hope of safety. So, nothing really works,” Natalie said.  
“That’s pretty bleak,” Ron said.  
“That’s life without hope,” Natalie said, as she opened the door.  
The raw stone foundations of the mill house were visible and glinted with embedded pieces of quartz in the low light cast by candles in a pewter chandelier. There were curious magical objects on every surface, and some were rather macabre, like the collection of crystal skulls on a lace tablecloth on one table. Harry could well believe that Professor Fortune and Dr. Lupin had been boyhood friends-Dr. Lupin collected strange magical antiques, and knew quite a fair bit about protecting oneself from the Dark Arts.  
“You made it through the forest-well done,” Fortune said, stepping out of a grandfather clock. As he closed the clock’s face, Harry was sure he saw stone steps leading into a dark cellar behind him.  
“What are we going to be learning, Professor?” Harry asked.  
“Before we start, Harry, I wanted to give you something,” Fortune said. He gestured for Harry to follow him, into the small kitchen area.  
On the kitchen table was a manilla folder, and Fortune handed it to Harry.  
As Harry pulled out the photograph, the face of his mother was slowly revealed until he was holding her face in his hands, and she was staring back at him.  
“I was something of a photographer, for a while there. I wanted to be Mick Rock, I guess, and take pictures of the musicians I met on the scene in London. I was always trying to be something or someone, always going through a phase…and your mum, she was always trying to wrangle us all back together when we went too far out. She was the memorykeeper of us-she knew who you were, even when you didn’t remember anymore. Anyway, these are some pictures I did at her 16th birthday party,” Fortune said.  
They were quite good, the lighting was thoughtful, gave the pictures a professional touch. Harry took the pictures out, spread them on the table. In these pictures, her hair was longer and she was thinner than in the wedding picture at Orchard Grange. She wore a lacy, white prairie style party dress, and looked sweet and happy. She smiled brightly, opening presents, blowing out sixteen candles on a cake, framed by her parents and friends: a young Dr. Lupin, who looked bookish and shy, a young Professor Fortune, whose hair was spiked and blue, clearly mid-punk rocker phase, as evidenced by the Buzzcocks tshirt. She could be a girl Harry knew from school, she felt so alive and looked so happy. He had a strong sense of who she had been as a person, a haunting familiarity that escaped words.  
Fortune put his hand around Harry’s shoulders.  
“She was full of life,” Fortune said.  
“Some kids were so angry at their parents, at the orphanage. They blamed them, for them ending up there. I always knew….that something had happened, and me and my parents had gotten lost from each other. It wasn’t what they wanted, and it wasn’t their fault. I knew, deep down….I don’t even know how to put it…” Harry said.  
“That you were loved,” Fortune said. “Your mum, you know, she was tough. She didn’t suffer fools…but, by God, she could make you feel loved. She was full of love.”  
“Your pictures really capture that,” Harry said.  
“Looking for your dad?” Fortune asked, noticing that Harry seemed to be scanning the pictures for someone who was absent. “They hadn’t started dating yet. I think she still called him ‘Richie Rich’ and ‘Giggling Wanker’ at this point.”  
“Um, no, actually, its just that you mentioned she had been friends with Snape, too, so….” Harry said.  
Fortune’s face darkened. “He’d found new friends,” he said.  
“I really can’t picture it, him and my mum….” Harry said.  
“I heard Nattie telling you lot about protection,” Fortune said. “Most of my business comes from folks who’re after it. There’s a ghost in their new house, shaking the shutters, bursting the pipes, knocking paintings off the walls, and they want it out. Those are quick jobs, but sometimes the client wants more.”  
“More than the poltergeist out of their house? But, isn’t that what they’ve hired you for?” Harry said.  
“Yeah, and I’m just a bloke from a mining town in Yorkshire, showing up wearing an old suit and speaking Latin. They want…a Shaman mask, a voodoo dance, a bloody tongue, spitting nails, whatever idea they have internalized about what magic’s supposed to look like. They want me to show up and be scarier than the thing they’re afraid of, because sometimes that’s what fear tells you to do: hide behind something bigger and scarier. We grow to trust the darkness to hide us,” Fortune said.  
“So, what’s that have to do with Snape?” Harry said.  
“I got a feeling you know that he was a Death Eater. And I think he became one because he started to look at Voldemort as…someone who could set the world right, by leveling the playing field, clearing out an old, oppressive regime and starting a new one. And, that gave him a sort of hope, made him feel safe…for a while. Broke your mum’s heart, it did, when he joined up,” Fortune said.  
Harry really couldn’t imagine it. In these pictures his mother looked like one of the mythological Graces, a preternaturally lovely being made of spring fragrance and morning light. He couldn’t imagine her shedding tears over the fate of the gloomy, bitter, belittling Professor he had known.  
“Now, its all happening again, the same wheel turning, people looking to Fascism for protection and pride,” Fortune said.  
“It must be discouraging, to see it all starting up again,” Harry said.  
“We’ll do what we did the first time: fight ‘em back,” Fortune said. “That’s what I’m doing here, doing my bit-when Dumbledore owls, you answer. But, except for helping me up at the school, Nattie stays here. If you’re going to do this thing proper, Harry, I mean if you’re really going after Voldemort, you have to know who you care about. You can’t forget who you’re fighting for, or you’ll just be living for the fight itself.”  
“Is that a bad thing?” Harry said.  
“Yeah. You grow to relish it, to take your losses personal and let your victories go to your head, to create situations by giving in to chaos. But, when you’re protecting someone, you have a purpose. It took me a long time to figure that out. I wandered, after the war-studying summoning and exorcism in South America, Africa, on Native American and First Nations reservations in North America, and so much of what I did failed…I lacked intention, and purpose,” Fortune said.  
“What changed?” Harry asked.  
“Well, I met Nattie…and that changed everything,” Fortune said.  
“That’s how I feel about Dora,” Harry said. “Its like…I knew what it was to be loved, I guess, now I know how it feels to love back. Like, I’d been waiting for the chance, now I have someone…to love.”  
Fortune clapped his shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get out there, and begin.”  
Hermione, Ron, and Dora were gathered around a ceramic bowl on a table.  
“I was just showing them the Pythia,” Natalie said.  
“What’s a Pythia?” Harry asked.  
“Well, the Pythia was the Oracle at Delphi. People asked her questions, and she gave an answer supposedly channeled from the god Apollo. This Pythia shows you the possible events that will result from a choice you are considering, if you ask her. I’ve only read about them! I’ve never seen one before!” Hermione enthused.  
“They can be a tad addictive,” Fortune said. “Some people get to the point they can’t make a decision without them.”  
“Yeah, but it could probably be helpful, too, right?” Ron said.  
“In moderation,” Fortune admitted, but then changed gears to the beginning of their lesson. “So, I’m going to be showing you how to shield your energy bodies. Why d’you think that’d be a handy skill to have?”  
Hermione answered, “Because, as Wizards, we absorb and use energy differently than humans. We can harness it into change, through spells, but we can also attack each other. But, we can use that same energy to create shields of protection.”  
“Yes! And that can block an attack, as long as you can maintain the shield,” Fortune said.  
If Cedric had had a shield…or his parents, Harry thought. He felt guilty…why should he be given this tool, that others hadn’t had? He brushed the thought away, to focus back on Fortune. He had to learn…Voldemort had come for him as a baby, and again at the Tri Wizard Tournament, and twice more now, at Buttershaw Hall, and the attack on the carriage. There would be another attack, and he had to know what to do. There was no real blueprint for being who and what he was, but he could learn the skills to come out the better of the situation.  
“So, how do we do that?” Ron asked eagerly.  
“First, you’ll learn how to ground your vital energy. That’ll keep your mind and your energy clear. You can’t be effective unless you’re in the present moment,” Fortune said. “Follow me out back.”  
Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Dora obeyed, and followed Fortune to the backyard. The spring air was crisp and damp, heavy with the sweetness of wild plum blossoms and dog roses growing at the edge of the woods, but laced with the sting of heavy pollen. It dusted the leaves, and could even be seen hanging on the wind. The sound of the river murmured from the other side of the house, and birds sang. Harry realized that his idea of America had been informed by Hollywood movies set amongst either the glittering glass highrises of New York City or the desert expanses of the West Coast. Virginia in spring had a bucolic feel not too different from the English countryside.  
“Shoes off, so you can feel the earth beneath your feet: that’s important,” Fortune said, and he took off his suede McAllisters, as well. Natalie took off her shoes, as well.  
“Close your eyes, and breathe into your lower belly,” Fortune instructed. Harry did so. This was not unlike the Zen meditation that Sirius and Dr. Lupin did at home, so he wasn’t unfamiliar with what was expected of him. He focused on his breath, and let it lull him into a state of serenity. When he reached a peaceful state of mind, he heard the songs of the birds and the rivers as a fabulous symphony, a tapestry of woven sound.  
“Good, good….now, focus on the feeling of the grass beneath your feet; imagine that all the wet, rich, dark earth is flowing into you, from the soles of your feet, up, up, through your whole body. It’s giving you its energy, and tying you to it. You’re grounded right here, right now, in this moment,” Fortune said.  
This moment? What was this moment? This was another day since the Triwizard Tournament, another day which should have placed more distance and space to forget between Harry and the darkness, Voldemort’s shrill, cruel laugh, the hooded figures of the Death Eaters, and Cedric being engulfed in green light, his beauty becoming waxen and frightening as he lay so still….another day should have lessened the tension in Harry’s muscles, should have blurred the details, but it was another day of remembering, not forgetting…the memories popped up like the telltale pox of a deadly disease blooming on his skin, painful to the touch and a harbinger of a certain end. The past had a pernicious way of feeling that it would inevitably happen again…and he would meet Voldemort again.  
Harry’s chest felt tight. He gasped for air.  
“Harry!” Dora exclaimed, and rushed to his side.  
Fortune gently but firmly shook his head, telling her to stand aside and let Harry deal with it himself.  
“That’s the past. I know it hurts. I know it was painful, and scary…but it will only come again if you act as if it will. You can’t control what’s happening, or what will happen, out there. But, you can control how strong you are when you meet it. You can control how you feel at every moment of your life,” Fortune said.  
“Cedric…he didn’t have this, he didn’t know how to protect himself, or even that he had to…it was just a competition, a sporting event, we should have just been able to finish it, we should have just been able to be….kids,” Harry said.  
“Its true; you should have,” Fortune said. “Feel that, Harry-and let it go with your breath.”  
Harry took a deep breath, then let it out with a big exhale.  
“Does your body feel any less tense, after that?” Fortune asked.  
“Yes,” Harry said, sounding surprised.  
“Good, good. Now focus on the grass. Your feet on the grass. Voldemort isn’t here, but we are. We’re here with you, Harry, and your feet are on the grass. That’s this moment,” Fortune said.  
“We’re here, Harry,” Hermione said.  
“We’re here, mate,” Ron said.  
“I’m here, my love,” Pandora said.  
Cedric was gone. Voldemort, whatever may happen in the future, wasn’t there, either. But, the people he loved and trusted were. Harry closed his eyes, and breathed. After a while, he felt the energy rising from the ground and travelling through him, like vines of life.  
“I feel it!” Harry said.  
“Well done!” Fortune said. “We’re going to do some breathing exercises, then call it a night. Haven’t you lot got Astronomy, tonight.”  
“Yes, at midnight,” Hermione confirmed.  
“Next lesson, we’ll work on feeling your aura and creating shields, using the energy you channel from grounding, around the first layer of your energy body. I suggest you lot drink a lot of water, and get a full night’s sleep from now on,” Fortune said. “And don’t tell just anyone what we’re doing here.”  
“’Course not,” Ron said.  
“I promise,” Hermione said.  
Harry and Dora nodded.  
“Thank you, Professor; and thanks for the pictures,” Harry said.  
“Lily was my best friend, Harry. Even though we were the same age, she was like a mum to me. My mum died, you see, when I was born,” Fortune said.  
Ron gasped.  
“What?” Hermione said.  
“Well, its just an old witches’ tale, but, they say a wizard whose mum dies at birth is….cursed,” Ron said.  
“Yeah, well, my dad certainly thought I was a plague on his house, and treated me like it. I couldn’t stand that house…my dad ran a gambling parlor and unlicensed pub out of our house, and I had to be barely seen and never heard there. When I met Lily and Sev, I had friends, and somewhere to escape to…then Remus and his mum moved to our town, from France. We were really tight, for a while. Am I blathering on?” Fortune said.  
Natalie took his hand. “Robbie, Harry wants to know that you cared for his mother. Its called connecting,” she said.  
“Natalie’s right. I…don’t hear much about my mum. She’s kind of a mystery to me. My godfather, Sirius, was my dad’s best friend, and the way he talks about him makes him real to me…but, my mum…Dr. Lupin never even told me they knew each other from the same town, as children,” Harry said.  
“I’m sure he didn’t mean to keep secrets-it’s just difficult to talk about. From what Robbie’s told me about the Coven War, everyone gave and lost a lot,” Natalie said.  
Harry nodded.  
“Thanks again, both of you,” he said, and turned, with his friends, toward the forest they must cross once more. Although the darkness was daunting, they had traversed it together before, and he had faith they would find their way once again.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Molly was a term in use in Britain for homosexual throughout the 18th century. It was not used disparagingly, per se, it was how such individuals identified themselves. Molly Houses were early incarnations of gay bars, taverns where men met to socialize, find romantic partners, and be entertained. Men there often dressed in female clothes and went by female names, but this was before the construct of a transgendered identity existed, so it is historically unclear how the majority of these men viewed their gender identity. Since the Wizarding world has an archaic feel, I decided the Molly House tradition should endure there.

“Astronomy, remember?” Harry murmured, but he was only teasing.  
The last thing he cared about was being late for Professor Sinistra’s class, when Dora’s hands were roaming beneath his tshirt, sailing caresses along his torso and chest, her fingers grazing his nipple, which answered with a sharp bolt of sensation that ricocheted through his body. Dora’s tongue darted into his mouth, and Harry sucked at it, drawing a moan from her. Where had she learned how to French kiss? He’d heard horror stories about how gross it could be, but this was natural and blindingly exciting…had she done this with other boys? Harry decided he didn’t care. Only the moment, and them, mattered. He wrapped his arms around her waist and held her close, her back pressed against the cold wall of the stairwell. They’d made it through the forest together, Ron and Hermione had already gone back up to Gryffindor Tower, and Harry and Pandora lingered in the stairwell of a turret, moonlight beaming down from an oriel window until the clouds obscured it and they were ensconced in the dark, together.  
“Harry,” she sighed, as he kissed her neck. Her skin looked delicious , like dark honey, and Harry couldn’t shake the impression that she would taste that way. He chased the taste of her, as he kissed her brown skin. “Love…you’ll leave a mark, everyone will stare…”  
Harry pulled away. He had never felt this way or suspected that he could, desire riding him like lightning passing through a conduit as electricity. It wasn’t easy to get his head together.  
“Anthea used to have them. Before Maurice, she’d sneak around with boys in the village, or the boys who tended our horses in the stables,” she said. “she’d have bruises from their kisses, on her neck…”  
“Give me one. I don’t care if anyone sees. Please? Bruise me…” Harry pleaded.  
He didn’t know where it came from. Something about crossing the forest together. Just like when they had survived the Death Eater attack and found Orchard Grange together, Harry felt so close to her.  
Dora’s gray eyes widened in surprise, and then cradled the moonlight that was once again shining through, unveiled by the clouds, into mischievous bemusement. She nodded. Harry felt her breath, first, as she pressed her lips to his neck. He shivered. The very tip of her tongue darted at his skin, and the lightning writhed beneath Harry’s skins, triggering wild, galloping shivers. She kissed and sucked at his neck, and Harry didn’t bother holding in his breathless groans. Dora was so warm against him, her hands felt so good. He said her name as she kissed him, and their bodies moved against each other like two vines shuddering in the wind.  
She pulled away, and smiled slyly at her handiwork. “You are marked, as requested. Satisfied?”  
Harry touched the sensitive place on his neck, which still sang of her lips. He could tell that it was red.  
Harry breathed, trying to catch his breath with every gulp of air.  
“Satisfied…” he confirmed.  
He closed his eyes. Dora shared her thoughts with him, and through her thoughts he saw memories of them at Orchard Grange. What if Remus hadn’t found them, Harry wondered. Would they have given in? They were both breathing raggedly, now, kissing and then breaking away to breathe, becoming more breathless with every kiss.  
“When that fades, I shall have to give you another,” Dora whispered in his ear, and nipped it in a kissing bite.  
Harry nodded avidly. “I love you, Dora,” he said.  
“I love you, too,” she said. “And, I’d better go up to Ravenclaw Tower.”  
“Yeah. And, you know…Astronomy, for me,” Harry said.  
“Keep an eye out for Alcyone,” she said.  
“Your star,” Harry said, and squeezed her hand lovingly as he gave her one last kiss.  
She smiled, and let go. Moonlight touched the brown lowlights in her dark hair as she walked upstairs, then she was out of reach of the moon’s beam, and Harry was alone, in the dark.

Harry went up to the Gryffindor Tower. He heard the voice of someone talking in the Common Room, and realized it was Ron. Ron was still awake, and talking to someone. Harry hung back at the last step of the staircase, the door between the stairs and the common room open just enough for him to be able to see, and hear.  
Ron was peering into a bowl, like the Pythia that Professor Fortune and Natalie had shown them.  
“I know, I know,” Ron sighed, in frustration. “But, your health.”  
“Don’t you think I know that, better than anyone?” Snapped an all too familiar voice, the crisp and aristocratic voice of Draco Malfoy.  
Harry wasn’t any fonder of him now that he knew his family had fostered Dora. That didn’t erase years of Malfoy being a nosy and insulting git. His voice seemed to be issuing from the bowl.  
Ron sighed once again. “Its not fair of Sirius to ask you to do this.”  
“He didn’t. I volunteered. It’s the only way,” Draco said.  
“I could go there, be with you. I could be your healer, the way Mum used to be. She’s taught me all about herbs, stuff like that, and no one would notice me,” Ron pleaded.  
“Ron…no. I don’t want you here. It’s too dark for you. You’re bright, and warm,” Draco said.  
Harry was shocked to hear Draco speak that way to anyone: ardent, tender. His voice sounded the way Dora’s kisses had felt, like passion and affection brewed into a caressing, soothing kind of love that, after a while, turned fierce.  
But, he hated Gryffindors! He hated Weasleys! He hated Ron, and Ron him! Harry felt as if he was having a ridiculous dream, where real life had been diced and tossed into a strange salad of events.  
“I should be with you,” Ron said plaintively.  
He peered deeply into the bowl, and Harry heard the unmistakeable sound of lips meeting in a kiss. Ron moaned, and when he and Malfoy pulled away Harry heard the smacking of lips.  
“All right, yeah, I know; I got Astronomy, anyway,” Ron said, and stood up straight.  
“Who’s there?” Ron said. Harry should have figured that Ron’s senses, sharpened by all the danger they had faced, would pick up on an eavesdropper.  
“Its just me,” Harry said, and stepped forward. “You don’t have to explain, if you don’t want to.”  
Ron looked pained, and was visibly deciding what to tell or not to tell. He relented, his shoulders slackening as the tension left them.  
“All right, I’ll tell you. But, first, tell me what you’re thinking,” Ron said.  
“Bloody Malfoy!” Harry burst. It was all he could think.  
“Is that a hickey?” Ron asked.  
“Nevermind! Bloody Malfoy!” Harry said.  
“I know, I know. Look, you know my family lives in the Vale. Well, a little ways outside of it, in a village called Whisper-In-the-Vale. You’re either on the top, or the bottom out there. Us in the village, we work for the rich Pureblood families, like the Malfoys, in different ways. My Mum, you know, she’s a Healer, she looked after Draco and his mum. They’re the sickly sort. That is, until Professor Snape started sniffing around for extra work when Slytherin tithes were raised. He became the Malfoys’ physician, and a tutor, and they had no need of my mum anymore,” Ron said.  
“Sorry to hear that, but…why were you kissing Malfoy?” Harry said.  
“We grew up together…sort of,” Ron said.  
“You never acted like it. Anyway, I grew up with about fifty other kids in an orphanage, and I can assure you that didn’t earn any of them a kiss,” Harry said.  
“You’re a smartmouthed, underweight, nearsighted little shit, you know that?” Ron said.  
“And, you’re ginger,” Harry pointed out.  
“Well, that’s hereditary, and lucky in some parts of the world,” Ron rejoined.  
Harry laughed.  
Ron said, “Look, its complicated. As soon as school started, we both knew we had to go our ways. He has to be in that Slytherin lot, with all the other little lordlings, and I gotta shift with my lot, haven’t I?”  
“Well, as that lot, I’m glad to shift with you,” Harry said.  
“Thanks and all,” Ron laughed. “He got really foul, hanging around all those other rich kids, and I really couldn’t stand him, for a while, there.”  
“So…what happened?” Harry asked. “What changed?”  
Ron looked concerned. “Um…I can’t really go into all that without telling someone else’s secret.”  
“Draco’s?” Harry asked.  
“No, someone else’s,” Ron asked.  
“Ron, no offense, but between Voldemort trying to kill me every other time I step out of the bath and this thing with Dora’s mum’s book, I don’t think I can take one more secret,” Harry said.  
“All right, its Sirius. You know how his uncle Alphard left him money to set him up after he left home?” Ron said.  
Harry nodded.  
“Well, turns out Alphard was….a Molly. And he left Sirius a Molly House. He still runs it, and its called the Queen’s Closet, in Londinium,” Ron said.  
“What’s a Molly?” Harry asked.  
“You know…” Ron said. “A bloke…who likes blokes.”  
“So, a Molly House, is that, like, a gay bar?” Harry asked.  
“That’s what Muggles call it? Yeah, I reckon. I…just had to see. I don’t like to sneak off, and worry Mum, during the summer. Since Dad died, you know, I just wanna make things easier for her. But, I had to know…” Ron said.  
“I know,” Harry said, and he truly did. He had longed to kiss Cedric even when that could only happen in dreams.  
Ron nodded. He understood.  
“Is it normal…in the Wizarding world?” Harry asked.  
“Well, more than it used to be. I mean, Molly used to be a slur, now its something people are proud to call themselves. But, it depends on who you are, you know? It would still be a scandal for someone with a lot to lose. I’m surprised Sirius keeps the Queen’s Closet open, being on the Guild now,” Ron said.  
“Well, he does as he likes,” Harry said. “and he’s proud to love Dr. Lupin. Was he there, when you went?”  
“No, thankfully-that would have been weird, my best friend’s Godfather running into me. But, I overheard that it was his place. I wasn’t trying to meet anyone, but it was exciting that I could, you know? And if I wanted to, I might…So, I got a few drinks. It was crowded, and I spilled my drink on this beautiful blonde girl in a violet silk frock. It wasn’t a girl, it was Draco! That’s not so odd in a Molly house. Some Mollies like to dress up when they go out, and go by a lady’s name. Its an old tradition, that even the Muggles used to do, back in the 18th century. He looked beautiful. We got to talking, and I felt close to him again. Like when we were kids, but something new, something different, something better than before. We went upstairs….we kissed. We touched. Blimey, Harry it was….” Ron said. “What was it like, with you and Cedric?”  
“What? We never….” Harry said.  
“Oh,” Ron said, surprised. “You’d say his name in your sleep, I just thought…”  
“I wanted to. God, I wanted to. I still….sometimes…in my dreams. Ron, do you know if its normal…to like girls and boys? I like them both,” Harry said.  
Ron smiled. He hugged Harry around his shoulders.  
“‘Course its normal. I like both, too. Its okay, Harry,” Ron said.  
“Really?” Harry asked. Ron nodded vehemently.  
From Sirius’s stories, Harry gathered that his godfather, too, had had a past with both men and women, but was now utterly committed to Dr. Lupin, and Dora had been tender and lovely when he told her about his feelings for a boy. Still, it was good to hear from his best friend that his feelings were not unique.  
“Do you love Malfoy?” Harry asked.  
“We’ve gotten close. There was that night you had a bad nightmare, over the weekend when Dean, Seamus, and Neville were home, it was just us?” Ron said.  
“Yeah,” Harry said, remembering how Ron had held him as he sobbed, flashbacks wracking his body like whips as he cried.  
“Well, I was meant to meet Draco at the Astronomy Tower, and he….was cross when I didn’t show up. The next day, he insulted us on the streets, a fray started, and there was all that rubbish in the papers,” Ron said.  
“Malfoy started in on us because you were supposed to snog him in the Astronomy Tower?” Harry said.  
“Don’t laugh, he’s damn good at snogging,” Ron said.  
“I heard you two, and I’ll take your word for it,” Harry said.  
Ron laughed. “I know you two think you hate each other, but its just a dumb Quidditch rivalry.”  
“Its more than that. Look, when I first started here, Malfoy came up to me and offered to show me the ‘right sort,’ to hang out with. His sort: sleazy Slytherin dark wizard wannabes,” Harry said.  
“His father talks like that. He’s always trying to copy his dad. Look, he is who he is, but everyone’s got a lot of sides, right?” Ron said.  
“He’s Dora’s cousin, and he’s on our side now, whatever his reasons are. But, I heard you say that you want to go with him,” Harry said.  
“Its his health. He’s delicate, and the magic they’ve got him doing, its risky,” Ron said.  
“If the risk is worth it to him, you’ve gotta respect it, and let him take his chances,” Harry said.  
“Would you say that, if it were Dora? Do you like it when she’s in the line of fire, taking risks?” Ron said.  
Harry felt guilt squirm in his belly. Apart of him enjoyed the thrill of danger, and he was relieved and excited by how fearless Dora had proved to be, willing to sneak off to see him, holding her own against the Death Eaters and werewolves, and dauntlessly crossing the forest. Was it fair to enjoy being with her in such situations? Shouldn’t he try to stop her?  
“I get it. You care about him. But, I think….that Malfoy’s on a mission. He’s trying something about himself, trying to resolve something, end something. Maybe he needs that,” Harry said.  
“You’re right. You two always did understand each other,” Ron said.  
“What did I say, to deserve an insult like that?” Harry asked.  
Ron smiled. He looked calmer, and reassured.  
“Any chance we can skive off Astronomy?” Ron said. “No one even sees Professor Sinistra during the day, maybe she won’t tell McGonagall. Any chance Sinistra is a vampire, and sleeps in the same coffin as Snape?”  
Harry laughed, and said, “Ron, how many times have I told you that theory about Snape being a vampire is ridiculous? Although staking him is a tempting prospect. Dora has nightmares about him trying it on with her.”  
“That’s so weird. I mean, he seems about as interested in seducing a student as McGonagall is in pole dancing, or Ginny is in needlepoint,” Ron said. Before Harry could protest, he added, “I’m not saying I don’t believe Crumpet, but none of this adds up…”  
“He asked her to marry him,” Harry said.  
“Yeah, but he also wanted to flee with her, from Voldie, right? The Wizarding World isn’t like the Muggle world, Harry. A woman and a man traveling together, who aren’t married? It would be about as conspicuous as a Member of the Guild who secretly runs a Molly House, if anyone found out,” Ron said. “He needed to travel with her, and I think that was the point of proposing.”  
“So, you think he only proposed to keep her safe from Voldemort?” Harry asked. “He also wanted to be her Master, and for her to be his Apprentice.”  
“Hmm….sounds like he wanted to get her out of Britain, maybe even out of this Realm, and perform the Attunement-the ceremony that would make them Master and Apprentice. There must be a safe place he knows that he was trying to take her to,” Ron said.  
“But, why?” Harry said.  
“He’s always had a thing for the Malfoys. They’ve done him some good turns, obviously, and he always looks after Draco at school, doesn’t he? Well, he saw Dora, this young girl living in a nest of Death Eaters, he was friendly with her parents, feels rosy about them, wants to help her out of her situation…” Ron said.  
“No. He was desperate to protect her. There must be some reason. Snape had reason to believe that Dora would come to Voldemort’s attention. Maybe that book of her mum’s, is something meant to protect her,” Harry said.  
“Or, something Dora’s meant to protect from Voldemort,” Ron said.  
“The sooner Hermione can crack that Cypher, sooner we know just what the Emerald Tablet really is,” Harry said.  
“Well, if you two are organizing to rush me, I recommend you cease and desist before you begin,” Hermione said, sweeping down the stairs. Her hairbrush was animated to handlessly brush her hair, and when her curls were reasonably tamed it transfigured itself back into a small, adjustable brass telescope and leapt into Hermione’s book satchel. “Come on, we’re going to be late for Astronomy!”  
On the way to the Astronomy Tower, Harry and Ron filled Hermione in on the theories they’d kicked about Dora, Snape, and the Emerald Tablet.  
“The difference between Potions and Alchemy is subtle. Alchemy has the same potential to create medicinal elixirs as Potioncraft, but using metals and periodic elements that wouldn’t go in a potion,” Hermione said. “Snape wasn’t just the Potions professor, here at Hogwarts, he was the Potions Master. So, he must have been granted a Third Degree in Master Healing from an alchemical society. Unless he was faking his credentials all these years.”  
“Possible,” Harry said. “So, Alchemy is extreme Potions?”  
“With metals, and esoteric philosophy, yes,” Hermione said. “that being said, the book Dora’s mother left him in possession of is littered with private codes. It seems that the pair of them, and possibly Dora’s father, maybe a larger group of alchemists, were working on a project together of a sensitive nature. Now, he’s given Dora this very sensitive book…it doesn’t add up. Its almost as if wherever he was trying to get to, he needed Dora and the book, together, to bring them there.”  
“She had a nightmare about him. I assumed it was….that he had done something inappropriate,” Harry said.  
“Yes, well, there was that vision you had, in Transfiguration. How sure are you of what you saw?” Hermione asked.  
“Pretty sure, but it was fuzzy,” Harry said.  
Hermione nodded. “I think I know a way to look into exactly what you dreamed, but it’ll have to keep until after Astronomy.”  
“A man’s gotta sleep sometime, ‘Mione. Please!” Ron said. Harry laughed.  
They went to the tower, and, under Professor Sinistra’s guidance, observed the stars. They were, indeed, looking for the Pleiades, one of which was named Alcyone. When class wrapped, as usual, the Gryffindors and Slytherins yawned their way across the bridge back to the castle proper. When they were back in Gryffindor Tower, Hermione stopped in the Common Room and began digging through her satchel.  
“Where is it? Zut!” Hermione said.  
“Zut?” Ron said skeptically.  
“Yes, well, my parents love Monty Python, it became an inside joke with us and then just worked its way into our idiom. Where is that Thinkstone?” Hermione said.  
“Inkstone?” Harry repeated.  
“Thinkstone,” Hermione repeated. “You only get one use out of it, and I had hoped to apply it to my Arithmancy review, but…Ron, can I see your Scrying Bowl?”  
Harry watched in awe. His best friend was the most accomplished witch he could ever hope to meet.  
Hermione said, “Aha!” and pulled a translucent rock that looked like a doorstop.  
“So, what’s a Thinkstone do?” Harry asked.  
Ron handed Hermione the bowl, and she waved her wand over it, casting, “Incantatio Aqua.” The bowl filled with water. She tossed Harry the Thinkstone, and said,  
“Focus on the vision you had, of Dora-it’ll go into the water, and we shall watch it. Now, focus!” Hermione said.  
Harry thought about the vision, and the stone began to glow and feel pleasantly warm.  
“When it gets too hot, put it in the water,” Ron said.  
Between Ron’s background, and Hermione’s extensive studying, they both knew volumes of things Harry didn’t. He was immensely grateful that they were so kind about it. Harry dropped the stone in the water, and it dissolved.  
“Thinkstones are made of selenite,” Hermione explained. “They absorb energy, stabilize vital energies and help you focus, and they dissolve in water. When it dissolves, it will show us your thought.”  
“Cool!” Harry said.  
They all watched as the water frothed with a milky substance , and then began to show them images like a small television set.  
Harry, Ron, and Hermione watched as Dora tossed and turned in bed, looking restless. A knock sounded from her door, and a disheveled Dora answered-it was Snape, shed of his lugubrious robes, in a black waistcoat and pants, and white shirt with slightly puffy sleeves. He offered Dora a sleeping potion. She took it, and became drowsy. Snape tenderly guided Dora into bed and tucked her in to bed. They had never seen him so kind and gentle with anyone. He verbally lashed out at even the youngest of his students, and was a dour figure set apart from the rest of the staff of Hogwarts professors, too-several years younger than his colleagues, but resolutely disengaged from them. He covered Dora with her blanket as if she were precious to him, like a daughter. Harry felt something like pity, and then apprehension about what he would see next.  
“We wanted to save you, not to hurt you. It was the only way,” He said, as he brushed the hair from her neck. He leaned closer, closer, and then bit into the dark honey skin of Dora’s neck. He drank, and then pulled away, wiping the red spots of Dora’s blood from his mouth.  
“Silphium,” he said, resignedly.  
The memory ended, and the phantasmagoric, cloudy waters cleared.  
“I knew it! He’s a bloody vampire! Oh, wait, is that a pun? If it is, it’s a bloody awful one. There I go, again,” Ron said.  
“Snape…he’s a Ghoul!” Hermione said.  
“A vampire’s servant? Fortune talked about those in Defense Against the Dark Arts. They’re humans who’ve been bit by a vampire, and it forms a bond between them. They serve a vampire, and thirst for blood but they’re still human,” Harry recalled.  
“Why do you reckon ghoul, not vampire?” Ron asked.  
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Ron! Obviously, he ages. When we started school, when we were 11, he looked younger. He’s aged, since then. A rather distinctive characteristic of the vampire is that they cease aging. Ghouls age slowly, and in the first fifty years of their life cycle their metabolic rate is still on par with a human’s, they just have exceptional immune systems and heal fast.”  
“So, Snape never gets a cold, but drinks blood. Don’t know if I’d call that a fair trade,” Ron said. “No wonder he’s so cranky-can’t imagine he gets a good snack very often.”  
“Ron!” Hermione said. “What would that be? A first year student in detention? A traveler staying at an inn at Hogsmeade? He must be keeping his bloodthirst under control with potions.”  
“What’s silphium?” Harry asked. “I feel like I’ve heard of that somewhere, before.”  
“Silphium was an herb. It was almost a panacea! It cured and prevented a wide range of ailments, but its been extinct since the last days of the Roman Empire. It was overharvested,” Hermione said.  
“Reckon so. Must have been in all kinds of potions,” Ron said.  
“Precisely!” Hermione said.  
“But, Snape drank Dora’s blood and said ‘Silphium’, like he recognized the taste. How could he have tasted an extinct plant?” Harry asked.  
“I don’t know…but I do recall seeing the symbol for silphium in the Cypher. It looks like a heart,” Hermione said.  
Harry was relieved that he had been wrong about the situation between Dora and Snape, but some extra sense trembled like dying music in the air, and he knew that this meant that Dora was in danger.  
“Could the silphium have anything to do with why Snape felt like he had to protect Dora from Voldemort so badly?” Harry asked.  
“Silphium was often used in Alchemy…and was believed to have properties which could grant incredible regenerative powers,” Hermione said. “If Voldemort is looking for Dora, then he wants to cull some kind of power from the silphium in her blood.”  
Harry touched the bruise Dora had kissed on his neck, and thought of her sleeping peacefully in Ravenclaw Tower. She was at peace, while he learned of the danger that threatened her. 

Dora stood at the mirror in her room, braiding yarrow blossoms into her hair, which was in one long mermaid braid, swept over her shoulder..  
“Oh, Pandy, don’t!” Cressida said.  
“What? Why not?” Pandora asked.  
“Well, only the Slytherin girls do that here, and of them only the ones we call the Bonnet Squad,” Cressida said.  
“Bonnet Squad?” Pandora asked.  
“You’ll notice them: the ultra conservative girls from families like our’s. They deign to wear their Coven robes, but not the school uniform, and in the village they dress as if they are in the Vale: long gowns, shawls, pelisses and spencers, and bonnets,” Cressida said. “They act all demure and aloof, but they can tell some slanderous stories behind your back.”  
“Sounds like the girls back home,” Dora said, thinking with distaste of Stelliana, Calliope, Belvina, and Agrippina.  
Cressida nodded knowingly.  
“Well, they can think what they like-I feel like yarrow blossoms in my hair today,” Pandora said.  
Cressida raised an eyebrow but left it. “So, where did you sneak off to, last night? I saw you come in late.”  
Pandora figured that she had the perfect cover, and just smiled with pleasant embarrassment to imply she and Harry had been meeting up to be close: the perfect cover for their secret defense lessons with Fortune.  
Cressida smiled. “You two are really gone for each other! Just wait till you see him at Quidditch! He’s a demon.”  
“Are you saying Mordecai hasn’t a chance?” Pandora teased.  
“Not at all! I’d never say so! Huzzah, Ravenclaw!” Cressida said quickly, with irony shining in her eyes. The girls laughed, but Cressida stopped before Dora. Her face looked serious, and she said, “I have to show you something, Pandy.”  
Pandora felt concerned, but she had faced a lot in the last few weeks and steeled herself to handle it. Cressida pulled the morning’s Daily Prophet out. The headline told Pandora all she needed to know.  
“Secret Source Names Death Eaters in Our Midst”.  
Cressida handed Pandora the paper, and Dora read,  
“While the Guild initially exercised caution regarding reports, made by Harry Potter and other witnesses, following the Tri Wizard Tournament about sightings of former Slytherin Magister Tom Riddle, evidence mounts towards this conclusion. Numerous violent incidents targeting Muggle Born or Halfblood wizards and communities of Non Humans, such as Werewolves, have transpired in the wake of Riddle’s alleged return, and credit for these hate crimes has, in some instances, been taken by groups that call themselves Death Eaters and use the insignia of Riddle’s former followers. While none of this conclusively proves that the man himself is active once more, a whistleblower’s tale might.  
A secret source within the Guild claims that several high ranking Guild officials, leaders within their Covens, have been in communication with Riddle, sheltering him, and working towards his return to power as Pontifex Rex….”  
The article listed the names given by the Whistleblower of this pro-Riddle enclave, and one of them, Dora read, was Lucius Malfoy. Her uncle had been publicly outed as a Death Eater!  
She sat on the bed. What would become of her Aunt? Maurice and Anthea were sheltering her, but her name in society was finished! No one would extend credit or favors to the wife of a man such as that. Banks, solicitors, estate agents, even pawnbrokers and dressmakers would avoid her like the plague, now.  
“My Aunt….” Pandora said.  
“I know, I know. This is…ruinous,” Cressida said. “If he sends for you, Dora, you mustn’t return!”  
“No, no, he wouldn’t…in fact, Cressie, that’s how I found myself here…Uncle wanted Professor Snape to detain me, my aunt, and cousin here at Hogwarts to be out of the way of his activities,” Pandora said.  
“What sort of activities?” Cressida said.  
“I don’t know! I truly don’t know…I only know that much because Professor Snape told me, and I stole some letters between him and Uncle,” Pandora said.  
“Oh, Pandy…” Cressida said, and hugged her.  
“This weekend, I will talk at length with my uncle, Sirius. We have only just met, and he was estranged from my family for years, but I do hope he can protect my aunt,” Pandora said.  
“Worry about yourself, Pandy. Let’s hope he can protect you. My father calls Sirius a ‘wildcard’,” Cressida said.  
Mad, wildcard, demon…the diabolical adjectives kept adding up, around her uncle Sirius. In their one meeting, Dora had found him warm and kind, but then her Aunt told her the story of how he deserted his wife and child, driving the former to madness. ‘He will betray you,’ she had said. Again, Dora hid her distress.  
“I thought he was unequivocally for Gryffindor, and Dumbledore, and regulating the practices of Dark and Gray magic. Such consistency hardly merits being called a ‘wildcard’,” Pandora said.  
“I don’t think Daddy meant it in a bad way. Sirius has had rows with the other Guildsmen, that’s all. It can get quite rowdy on the legislation hall floor-punches thrown, challenges to duels, all that,” Cressida said.  
“Well, I do hope my uncle doesn’t lose in any duels any time soon-I do need somewhere to live!” Pandora said.  
Cressida laughed. “You’re taking this well enough. You’re so strong. Don’t worry-as long as you are walking beside Harry Potter, no one would think you have any pro-Riddle sympathies. Masterful stroke, dear.”  
“It isn’t like that, Cressie,” Pandora said. “I truly love him.”  
“All the better, dear. Come on, lets go to breakfast.”

The Great Hall buzzed with the chatter of students at every table. Pandora was sitting amongst her Ravenclaw friends, and they were all tucking in to Belgian waffles with fresh cream and strawberries when, at the staff table, Professor Dumbledore stood to speak.  
“Attention, students,” Professor Dumbledore called, and announced, “Slytherin Coven’s students, upon the departure of Professor Snape, have been without a Guardian to guide them. A Guardian plays a special role in the life of their students, as a professor who exemplifies the best of their Coven’s particular skills and values and can guide students to hone their aptitudes and guide their choices towards the right vocation. Bearing all this in mind, I have appointed Professor Robert Fortune, your Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, as Slytherin’s Guardian. An accomplished alumnus of Hogwarts, Professor Fortune began his persistent efforts against the Dark Arts on the ground in the war effort of the so-called Coven War. After that, he travelled extensively, studying different branches of magic. His wide experience will be a guide, his prowess fighting the Dark Arts a resource.”  
Before his announcement was through, the Slytherin table had erupted in loud protest. There were shouts of ‘blood traitor’ amongst the Slytherin students.  
“Silence!” Dumbledore said. “Intellectual debate is encouraged, at Hogwarts. Rejecting ideas, practices, and persons you do not agree with based on prejudices about blood purity which have no bearing on a wizard’s worth are not. I cannot change your hearts-but I can preserve the tranquility and integrity of this school by refusing to allow discourse like what I hear now to flourish. Professor Fortune, have you any remarks?”  
“I went to this school, coming up. I saw things happen that I’m seeing happen again. Like the Professor said, I can’t change how you feel, but you won’t get any help or tolerance from me if you’re aiming to become a Death Eater. I teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. Learning how to fight dark magic has taken me to hell and back. I hope none of you will have to go to hell, or back, and I’m here to help if you’re frightened or lost, or got a question. Slytherin has a courage maybe the other Covens haven’t got, to peer into the abyss, but you can avoid a world of pain by realizing that the abyss always looks back, and once it sees you, it wants you. You don’t have to fall in, though. I’m here. Talk to me if you feel the abyss coming for you,” Fortune said.  
Pandora felt shivers start on her arms. She knew what he meant. Darkness was spreading from the heart of Slytherin Coven. So many of her peers’ fathers had been Death Eaters once, and, like her Uncle Lucius, were now disappearing to secret meetings since Voldemort’s return. The reports in the papers of hate crimes against Muggle Borns and Creatures, or Imperiused Muggles committing horrific crimes in the Muggle world meant something different to those within the Coven. To those on the outside, they were frightening harbingers of a dark future, but to Slytherins it meant that the world was at war and they were the conquering heroes, driving back and putting down the interlopers that had tarnished and stolen their glory, who needed to be annihilated for a golden age to begin.  
Appointing Fortune as the Coven Guardian for students was a move by Dumbledore to unequivocally say he did not support the fermentation of pro-Voldemort sentiment amongst the students, and maybe provide a supportive ear to students in Slytherin who did not support the Death Eater movement.  
She looked at Eastling and Thrale, the boys who had called her ‘blood traitor’ and challenged Fortune in class. They were giving the same murderous glare to him that they had to her. She looked over at the Gryffindor table, for Harry. She reached out to him with their red chord.  
‘What’s wrong?’ she felt him ask, and the aura of concern around his thoughts.  
‘I just need you,’ Pandora said.  
‘I need you, too,’ he thought. ‘I have to talk to you about something. I think it’s about the Tabula.’  
That surprised her. ‘The library?’ Dora suggested, and felt Harry’s assent.  
‘Let’s meet at lunch,’ he said.  
Dora looked over at the Gryffindor side. He became more beautiful the dearer he became to her. His hair was messy, his face was thin, but such rare eyes! They smoldered like emeralds. His lips were rosy against his creamy skin, and when she looked at his neck she saw the bruise from her lips. She touched her lips, remembering how it felt to be lost in the task of bruising him. Heat slithered in her body, and she felt the twin of her own desire in Harry’s thoughts. She wished they could go to Orchard Grange and live together like Adam and Eve in its orchards and gardens, the sun kissing their skin, in each other’s arms in the soft grass of a meadow…  
The students departed breakfast, and Ravenclaw had History of Magic with Hufflepuff.  
“More of Mr Shepherd’s harangues, I’m sure,” Somachandra said, and Mordecai agreed with a grimace.  
Sheperd, Davy Llewellyn, and Posy Larch were indeed passing around the Daily Prophet. Dora was terrified that they were discussing her Uncle, but instead Dora saw that they had opened their copy of the paper to the headline, “Violence at Muggle Shopping Mall Blamed on Imperiused Muggle”.  
Dora asked for Cressida’s paper, and flipped to the story the Hufflepuffs were reading.  
Cressida read out loud, “In yet another incident of what Muggles refer to as a ‘mass shooting’, 20 were killed in a violent incident at a Muggle indoor bazaar or ‘shopping mall’. The suspect, Frank Grimes, 35, in a collaborative effort between Muggle and Wizard law enforcement, has been found to have been under the Imperius Curse during the act…”  
“What for? Why does the Dark Lord commit these atrocious acts against Muggles?” Pandora said.  
“Well, he hates them. Thinks they’re inferior, and would like to do away with them. Its called genocide: when one ethnic group actively tries to kill the entire population of another. He thinks there should be more living space on the earth for Wizards-Pureblood ones, anyway, so there’s that. Also, the energy of these attacks feed him: the pain, grief, misery, fear, suspicion, and revenge they trigger. Those dark emotions feed Dark Magic, and makes him stronger,” Cressida said. “Dora…do you believe the prophecy?”  
“About Harry, you mean?” Dora asked.  
Cressida nodded solemnly. “That he is the only one who can stop the Dark Lord, that he must do it in the end. That is why he was hidden away all those years, why he has returned, why Professor Dumbledore pulls him aside for private talks, why he survived the Tri Wizard Tournament when Cedric Diggory did not…” Cressida said.  
“Piffle,” Kashmira said. “‘The fault lies not in our stars, but in ourselves.’”  
“I second that. We make our own fates, and the decisions we make affect us and other people. It’s a butterfly affect,” Somachandra said.  
“A what?” Pandora asked.  
“It comes from a short story by a Muggle writer. Say a time traveler went back to the age of dinosaurs,” Somachandra said. “He swats a butterfly that landed on his shoulder. That butterfly pollinated a plant, which can’t grow without it. That plant was the food source of a herbivorous dinosaur, that dies out for lack of food. The carnivorous dinosaurs die out, too, for lack of herbivores to prey upon. One action ripples out into its consequences-such is life.”  
“Butterfly effect. So, the prophecy was made, because that’s some people’s line of work, isn’t it, to make prophecies; Voldemort hears it, believes it, and pursues Harry because of it, but not because the prophecy is being fulfilled, rather it is a catalyst for Voldemort’s actions,” Pandora said.  
“Yes, but, why are prophecies given, if they are not true? There are Seers who don’t do it for money, at all, it is their nature, like those who can read minds, or change their appearance at will, it’s a natural talent,” Cressida said.  
“Silence, children,” Professor Binns called, and the class resumed its lesson about the Druids of Ancient Britain.  
Roger Shepherd, of course, had more objections about how the patriarchal slant of Binns’ teaching was overlooking the contributions, nay, the existence of female priestesses, and that this was typical post-Arcturian male wizard entitlement. The class groaned. Dora felt that she was getting used to life at Hogwarts.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's left comments! I appreciate it!  
> I'm in renewed awe of the sheer volume and intricacy of J.K. Rowling's writing. In attempting to create my own take on it in 'The Alchemist's Daughter', I see just how meticulous her accomplishment is. My own suffers from its wonky timeline and pacing. For those who get a little confused, we have covered about two weeks since Dora and Harry discovered their soul bond, and are wrapping up her first week at Hogwarts. Thanks again for everyone reading and enjoying the story.
> 
> 'Tread carefully, for you walk on my dreams.'

“I got a letter from Mum,” Ron said, as he, Hermione, and Harry walked to Defense Against the Dark Arts.  
Harry and Hermione both inclined to him eagerly, anxious to hear news of Ginny. Harry asked,  
“How’s Ginny?”  
“Bored out of her skull,” Ron said bemusedly. “Mum has her helping in the gardens, with drying herbs, and going on calls with her, but she’s no midwife. Mum wants to keep her home to recover for the rest of the month, but she’s chomping at the bit to get back to school.”  
“Sounds like her. I’m sure she’s eager to get back to the Quidditch team,” Hermione said. “But, did your mother say any more about how the possession is affecting her?”  
“I guess it didn’t leave any permanent effects. I mean, these things can happen really fast, and be over pretty fast, too,” Ron said.  
“It can’t be common, though: one wizard taking over another’s mind,” Harry said.  
“It’s a branch of magic called mentalism: reading thoughts, blocking your own mind from being read, and even to some extent, mind control. What happened to Ginny doesn’t fit any of those categories, exactly: Riddle took over her mind, but spoke through her. If anything, it sounds like Zomibiefication,” Hermione said.  
“Zombies?” Harry said. “Those actually exist?”  
There was one television in the orphanage, in the basement. The Dursleys stored a lot of junk down there, and must have forgotten about it. Once the orphans discovered that it still worked, groups of friends would sneak down there and watch TV with the volume turned down extremely low. The word ‘zombie’ called to mind schlocky 1980s horror movies Harry had seen of lurching animated corpses in rotted clothes, pursuing imperiled teenagers.  
“Not of the “Night of the Living Dead” variety,” Hermione said. “The myth of the Zombie as a corpse animated by dark magic is a complete misunderstanding of Caribbean folklore and magical practice. The Zombie isn’t dead, but one of the living, and its believed that they are being controlled by the will of a malevolent shaman. There must be several ways to do that, control another person…and Mentalism is one of them.”  
“Gin’s getting better,” Ron insisted. He needed his sister to be okay, after his father’s sudden death.  
“Of course,” Hermione said, but Harry and Ron both got the impression that she had more to say.  
“But?” Ron asked.  
“But, is it wise of your mother to try to care for Ginny alone? I mean, the sort of Dark Magic attack that Ginny suffered requires the attention of an expert in Defense Against the Dark Arts, or an accomplished healer,” Hermione said.  
“Mum is accomplished! She can cure anything! She looks after the whole neighborhood!” Ron said.  
“Childhood illnesses, pregnancies, broken bones, seasonal colds and flus, Ron-this is a dark magical attack by Voldemort, himself! Maybe Ginny should be in a facility of some sort…” Hermione said.  
Ron gave her a thunderously indignant look. “We’re doing the best we can! You think we asked for this to happen?!”  
Hermione gave him a warning, admonishing look, but it was too late. When they both looked over at Harry, he looked sick with guilt, trying to hold in the worst of it stoically.  
The Weasley family hadn’t asked for another misfortune, at all. It had happened because of Ginny’s proximity to Harry.  
“I just mean,” Ron said, “That we can’t afford some expert, or some place, after the Malfoys sacked Mum, and with Dad gone.”  
“Whatever Ginny needs, Ron, I’ll see to it. Please, can you tell your mum that?” Harry said.  
“Its fine,” Ron muttered.  
“Don’t say its from me, then, say Sirius would like to help. He’s family, right?” Harry said.  
“Mum’s, like, third cousin,” Ron said dismissively. He was getting more ill-tempered the longer this conversation ran on. “Gin will be fine. Seriously. I mean, Mentalism doesn’t kill people, right?”  
Harry could tell by the light of suddenly recalled information in Hermione’s mind that she had read of some case of fatal magical mind-control, but he prayed that she wouldn’t bring it up. She thankfully exercised restraint, and the three friends entered Fortune’s classroom-Hermione feeling sorry but resisting the urge to shoot Ron apologetic glances, Harry feeling as if he was walking through a swamp of guilt, and Ron’s mood clouded with worry for his sister, and probably Draco, too.  
Harry, Ron, and Hermione filed into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, along with their fellow Gryffindors, and their Hufflepuff classmates. Fortune nodded to the three of them, a barely perceptible notice of their connection outside of class. Class consisted of a review of what they had already learned about vampires and incubi/succubi, which was fortunate since most students’ minds were on the Hogsmeade visit after their lunch hour. Harry looked forward to spending the lunch hour and the visit to the village with Dora-finally, they would get to see the Goblin Market together.  
“Professor,” Hermione asked, raising her hand, to the eyerolls and snorts of many of their classmates, Gryffindor and Hufflepuff alike.  
“What’s up, Hermione?” he asked, instead of merely assenting to her question by calling her by her surname, like an average professor. There was no sternness about Fortune, except on the subject of Dark Magic.  
“I was wondering something about ghouls. Can they love?” she asked.  
The class burst into unkind laughter.  
Harry and Ron started telling no one in particular, the fray in general, to shut up, adding their voices to the din.  
Fortune snapped his fingers, and the room was plunged in darkness more total than any Harry had known in a room that was merely unlit. This was darkness itself, its substance distilled, and poured into the room as if through a flood in the roof, and a peculiar hum filled the room, which resembled an out of tune symphony one minute, a field of hungry locusts the next.  
He snapped his fingers, and the humming darkness ceased. Ron looked at Fortune with awe-his father had been a Squib, incapable of magic, and worked as a carpenter, and Harry noticed that he looked to older wizards like Sirius, Remus, and now Fortune with hero worship. It had made him jealous with the former two, as they were his guardians and sharing was hard after dreaming of a family for so long in the orphanage. He felt no such proprietorship of Rob. He felt rattled by the glamour, and as he looked around the classroom, he saw that his classmates looked varyingly seasick, impressed, and, in Hermione’s case, patiently forebearing-she was still waiting to have her question answered.  
“Don’t want to have to do that again, you lot,” Fortune said.  
“Sir, what was that?” Dean Thomas said appreciatively.  
“A memory. Not mine, but one I harvested. You can use memories, if you know how to collect them,” Fortune said. “But, back to Miss Granger’s original question. Can a ghoul love? Let’s break that down. Can a ghoul fall in love? Not really, because chemically hormones like oxytocin, serotonin, and dopamine raise in the body when you’re in love, and those hormones in a ghoul don’t reach the same levels as a human. But, ghouls retain strong attachments they’ve had before their transformation. They’re informed by the memory of being human, so for a long time I guess a ghoul could get by fooling someone they already knew into believing nothing had changed if they can create a mimicry of their old behavior. But, their behavior is going to get increasingly inhuman-obsessive, with little respect for boundaries, but at other times detached and cold.”  
Fortune continued his review.  
“Thanks for taking up for me,” Hermione said.  
“You’re bloody brilliant,” Ron said.  
Hermione smiled, and said, “Thanks!”  
“That all fits. Dora and Sirius both reckon Snape was in love with Dora’s mum-that explains his behavior towards Dora. He transferred his affection from Ada Black to her daughter, but because of his ghoul nature, it turned obsessive and abusive,” Harry said.  
“That’s a sound conjecture,” Hermione said approvingly.  
“How do we break all this to Dora?” Ron said.  
“You’ve known her for a long time, how do you think she’d respond?” Hermione responded.  
“She’s changed a lot. I mean, she was really sweet, traditional, well behaved, shy. Clung to Madam Malfoy, only mother she’s ever known, and was always really attached to her. But, she was a happy kid, and all,” Ron said. “I dunno. Something made her want out of the Vale, and to come to school-she saw her chance, and she took it. I think we can be honest with her. She told us about her mum’s book.”  
That satisfied Harry and Hermione. Class wound down, and Fortune called them over.  
“Good job energy raising this morning, you two. Next lesson next Friday night. Come to me sooner, if you need anything,” Fortune said.  
“Three Gryffindors, coming to the Slytherin Coven Guardian for help? Won’t that look fishy?” Ron said.  
Fortune waved his hand. “Come on, none of that Coven bullshit. I was in Slytherin, but Harry’s mum and Remus were in Gryffindor, and they were my two best friends,” Fortune said.  
“So, you were in Slytherin…there must have been immense pressure on you to become a Death Eater, during your school days,” Hermione said. “Weren’t many of Voldemort’s followers indoctrinated from their school days, right here at Hogwarts, from Slytherin?”  
Fortune’s handsome face took on the dark weight of remembrance.  
“I kept to myself. Anyway, Muggleborns need not apply to those ranks. You can get by, as a Halfblood, if you make a big show of hating your Muggle side, and rejecting anything to do with it. That ain’t me,” Fortune said. “Had a friend like that, though. Sad to watch. Just hope I can stop at least a few of these kids from turning. There’s going to be a school forum about all this, later on in the year, for all students in fourth through eighth year. Anyway, you lot, keep practicing, all right?”  
They all agreed to do so, and Harry felt relieved that someone was taking the issue of pro-Voldemort sentiment at the school so seriously.  
Class was dismissed, and the three friends headed to the library. Harry noticed Roger Shepherd, Posy Larch, and Davy Llewellyn, three Hufflepuffs, talking to Madam Pince, the strict librarian, in front of the stained-glass window of Merlin.  
“Well, I didn’t bolt it in! That window has probably been here since the days of Henry VIII! He loved magic, you know, and his second wife was a witch. And quite hot to trot-spoke French, had great dress sense…so, of course the Muggles wanted her head,” Madam Pince said.  
“Ooh, interesting!” Hermione said. “I wonder if any other Queens Consort of Britain have been witches?”  
Posy, Davy, and Roger didn’t seem nearly as interested in Anne Boleyn as Hermione.  
“How about the petition? If we can get enough signatures, Dumbledore will have to listen to us, and take down this symbol of oppression,” Roger said.  
“He has nothing better to do, I’m sure, so why ever not?” Madam Pince said, sounding cross. Harry, Ron, and Hermione laughed.

“Pandora! Hey! I was hoping to catch up with you! Are you still on for Botany Club? We’re going to be planting gold seeds, for Goldcoral trees. I think they’re used in Alchemy, I know you love Alchemy,” Neville rambled, catching up with Pandora in the corridor, on the way to the library.  
“Oh…hi, Neville. Goldcoral trees? The seeds actually have veins of gold!” Pandora said.  
“Yeah. Of course, they’re just sort of on loan so that we’ll have an example, here at school. They’re going to be shipped to the Guild’s Treasury Vault to make Galleons and such, once they’re fully grown,” Neville said. “Just imagine, if the Goldcoral seeds themselves weren’t so expensive, people could just grow them, and hammer out their own money!”  
Dora smiled. That was a thought!  
Neville, however, looked concerned. “Dora…are you sure you’re all right? You look a little…faraway.”  
“Neville…I know your parents were Aurors, in the Coven War. In light of what you must have seen in the newspaper this morning, you’re within your rights not to want to be friends with me, anymore,” Pandora said solemnly.  
Neville looked quizzical, but Pandora pulled the copy of the newspaper she had gotten from Cressida out and showed him the ‘Death Eaters in Our Midst’ headline. Dora had always appreciated Neville’s transparency. His face took on an expression of obvious shock as he read, then he frowned with deliberation.  
“Dora, this doesn’t mean I won’t be your friend, anymore,” Neville said.  
“My Uncle is a Death Eater!” Dora said. “How can you stand the sight of me?”  
“Because, people aren’t their families, or their names, or their families’ pasts,” Neville said. “No one in my family has any time for Herbology or Botany. I’m not anything like them. I don’t know how those things happen, but it does, no matter how people try to fight it or pretend otherwise. We turn out how we turn out, and its all right to be the only one like you in your whole family.”  
Dora hugged Neville. He seemed surprised, and was rigid with surprise at first, but then gave her a hug and a pat on her back. They pulled apart, and she said,  
“Thank you! My cousin, Lucy…I have to talk to her, today. I need to make sure she’s all right. And, I have to meet Harry in the library…”  
“Dora! You’re spinning like a top! Breathe. It’ll be all right. I know Hogwarts can be stressful, sometimes, but it really is one of the safest places in the world,” Neville said.  
Dora stopped, and took a deep breath, and said, “You know, when I take a breath, and clear my mind…I truly do feel safe here.”  
Neville gave her an encouraging nod, smiling, and said, “Why don’t you come down to the greenhouse and do some sketches when you get the chance? I remember how happy and free you seemed whenever we could get out to the woods, or the river, and press or sketch plants. Do more of what makes you happy!”  
“I will!” Dora promised.  
She kipped into a girl’s lavatory, unwound her mermaid braid, and plucked the yarrow blossoms out of her hair. She decided she wanted her hair free, after all. Then she continued onto the library, which was behind an oak door that read ‘Library’ on an engraved plaque. The humble door gave no indication of the scale of what lay behind it. Dora opened it to a cathedralic space, with two levels and high ceilings. The domed ceiling reminded Dora of what she’d read of the Hagia Sophia in Istanbul, but the walls boasted large, stunning Gothic stained glass windows that called to mind a medieval cloister, one of Eleanor of Aquitaine’s places of forced exile, perhaps. The figures in the window were not saints, angels, or kings, but notable witches and wizards from Britain’s history, like Merlin, Morgana, and Nimue. The shelves were a labyrinth, and enticed Dora to spend hours amongst them, the way she did in her Uncle’s library at Malfoy Manor.  
She looked around for Harry, Ron, and Hermione, but came upon a severe woman whom she pegged for the librarian at once.  
“If you’re here about that wretched window, don’t bother! I’ve just spoken to your cronies. What is all this fuss about Merlin, lately? Before you throw a fellow out altogether, I suggest you read about his achievements. I recommend Geoffrey of Monmouth, to start…” the Librarian went on, but Dora gently interjected,  
“I beg your pardon, Madam, but I have no quarrel with Merlin, in particular: I only wanted to look at some botanical illustrations.”  
“Oh! Well! Level 2, on the east wing. Off you go!” said the librarian.  
Pandora didn’t need to go up there, but she supposed she had to now. She had to stop the woman’s harangue somehow or another. As she was climbing the stairs, she looked up and saw Harry, Ron, and Hermione at a table on the second level.  
Harry’s eyes clapped on Dora, and Dora watched with delight as Harry’s emerald eyes shone with gladness at the sight of her. This is what it was to be especially beloved. Her Aunt had always been affectionate, her Uncle had always been fond, and she was treated as a sister by Anthea, Draco, and Lucy. But, she’d discovered in herself recently a need to be seen completely by another, with a fondness derived from their appreciation of her particular qualities of self. Snape’s regard for her talent as a witch had saved her from being buried by the passive aggressive torment of her Vale classmates, but it was not his regard she wanted, she realized when she was alone with him. His feelings were a complicated brew of lingering affection for her mother, ambition, and a mission upon someone else’s request. Harry simply loved her, and it felt deep and pure.  
She took the stairs, and joined him and his friends on the second level.  
“How’d you sleep?” Harry asked.  
“Fine, really,” she insisted. She needed him to know she could handle whatever was next in their struggle against Voldemort.  
Harry looked relieved, and asked, “Did Kashmira or Mordecai notice you came in late?”  
“No, but Cressie did. I told her I was with you, and…rather let her believe what she wanted to…” Dora said playfully.  
Harry blushed, which Dora found very appealing. “Well…she wasn’t entirely wrong, there, was she?” he said.  
Dora reached out as if pointing at something, and with the tip of her finger she stroked the bruise she had left on Harry’s neck. He closed his eyes, savoring the touch, and she felt an echo of his sensitized skin, and after a few seconds could hardly tell where the feeling had begun, with him or her.  
Hermione and Ron came back from the shelves, both carrying large stacks of books. Hermione cleared her throat, and Dora retracted her finger.  
“Dora!” Hermione said. “Did you bring the Tabula?”  
“Yes, its in my bag. I wouldn’t dare leave it in my room. Do you think you have a lead on my mother’s Cypher?” Dora asked.  
“I have every book I could find about Runes, Hieroglyphs, Latin, Ancient Greek, Numerology, and Alchemical Symbolism I can find,” Hermione said.  
“And, that I can carry! No stone left unturned, that’s our Hermione,” Ron said.  
“Actually, we’re still working out the Cypher. What we wanted to tell you isn’t exactly about the Tabula. Its about Snape,” Harry said.  
“What about him?” Dora asked.  
“We reckon he’s a ghoul,” Ron said. “Sit down, we’ll tell you everything.”  
Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Pandora sat at the study table overlooking the first floor of the library, beyond the balcony. Harry and his friends told her everything they knew and surmised about her former tutor.  
“I rather suspected as much, when I began to remember him biting me,” Pandora said, when they finished, but added, “What I can’t work out is the bit about silphium. Why was it in my blood? How did Severus recognize its taste? What did he mean, that he’d meant only to help me, not to hurt me? Who else was involved, who was he referring to?”  
“There are a lot of questions to be answered-all we know right now is that silphium is a plant, used in herbalism, potions, and alchemy for centuries until it became extinct, supposedly, in the last days of the Roman Empire,” Hermione said.  
“But, that obviously can’t be true,” Pandora said.  
“Right-because its in your blood,” Harry said.  
“How?” Dora demanded.  
She was surprised at the volume of her voice, at how desperate and demanding she sounded. She knew that she wasn’t being fair to Harry and his friends. If she showed wild emotion like that in the Vale, her Aunt and Uncle would make sure to tell her how unbecoming it was, so she had rarely dared. Ron and Hermione looked sympathetic, the way people looked at her when they were discussing her parents, how they had died young, beautiful, and in love, leaving her behind. Harry took her hand, entwining their fingers, save for his thumb, which caressed her palm. His emerald eyes met her’s, and he said,  
“Sirius told me some stuff about Snape and your dad.”  
“My father? I always gathered that they were friends, but I never had the heart to ask,” Pandora said.  
Harry nodded. “According to Sirius, your dad isolated himself after your mum died, and Snape was one of the few people he let around him. I guess because they were alchemy partners. You know about your dad’s experiments, to bring your mum back…well, Sirius said that Snape egged your dad on in it, and got him in with Voldemort, somehow, on the promise that Dark Magic could bring your mother back.”  
Dora felt cold all over. She was horrified.  
Hermione was, too, apparently, but at Harry. “Harry! This is all conjecture. I adore Sirius as much as you do, but you know he and Snape have a lifelong grudge against each other from school. We can’t take his assumptions about his motives as gospel, considering his general dislike of him.”  
“Look, here’s what we know, that Snape was a Death Eater and he is a ghoul, he did foul experiments on Dora’s mum when she was dead or close to it, and he bit Dora to find this silphium stuff,” Harry said. Hermione shot him a warning look, and Harry looked over at Dora.  
“Dora! God, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just said all that. This…I know this is all a shock,” Harry said.  
“It is…to some extent. But, to another, it feels more like certain things I always felt have now been given words, have been pulled out of the shadows, into the light,” Pandora said. “What does silphium do, exactly? I mean, I know it was believed to be terribly efficacious in all manner of applications, but…what does it do to one…in their blood?”  
Hermione hesitated, and then said, “Its hard to say. When I found the symbol in your mother’s Cypher, I read up on it, but I could only find references to it being used as an ingredient in potions….however it ended up in your bloodstream, it must have been apart of another sort of procedure…”  
“An experiment. So, Snape and your dad weren’t just trying to bring back your mum, they experimented on you, too. But, why?” Ron said.  
“What do you know about your earliest days, Pandora?” Hermione said.  
Pandora had read many novels where the hero or heroine, or some omniscient narrator who seems to know everyone’s secrets like a deity, tells of their birth. They seem to know every detail of the afternoon’s weather, their parents’ whereabouts and state of mind on the day in question… but Dora’s early life as it had been told to her in broad strokes. Her mother was ill, languished after her birth, and died. Her father, a gentle romantic who loved his wife dearly, died mysteriously soon after. It was a story so flimsy it could only satisfy a child accustomed to thinking asking too many questions was impertinent and would lead to punishment. But, she wasn’t a child anymore.  
“I don’t know. There’s much I don’t know about my parents. It was Severus who told me my parents had been scientists, I’d never known that, before…and, I had no idea that my father had any involvement with Voldemort. I suspected that Severus did…he called Voldemort the Dark Lord. Only his servants do so,” Pandora said.  
“How can we find out more, about what your parents and Snape were up to, and why he thought you should be hidden from Voldemort?” Ron asked.  
“Seems like we’re going to have to find out more about your mum and dad,” Harry said.  
“How? My Aunt and Uncle never told me much, and Severus is gone,” she said, and she realized how much she had been willing to put up with to continue to be told that she was like her mother, or on the off chance that he would tell her something about her father.  
“Talking to someone who knew them would be helpful, but not necessary, really. This is Hogwarts! Its not merely a school, but has perhaps some of the best kept records in existence about the witches and wizards of Britain who have studied here,” Hermione said.  
“You think we can piece together my parents’ lives, as well as my mother’s Cypher?” Pandora said.  
“We can certainly try!” Hermione said.  
“There is one thing that I fear is beyond us to solve through consulting the library or Hogwarts records,” Pandora said.  
“What’s that?” Ron asked.  
“Ghouls serve vampires. So, who is the vampire that Severus serves? And, what role does he have in this?” Pandora said.  
Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at each other. “He could be acting freely, in a manner of speaking, compelled by his feelings for your mother. Fortune said ghouls can still feel strong attachments formed when they were human. Maybe it is your mother’s memory that motivates him. But, as I told Harry….we mustn’t conjecture," Hermione said.  
“We dare not conjecture,” Ron said.  
“Despite the fact that this is all conjecture,” Harry pointed out.  
“Pandora, you do understand me, don’t you?” Hermione said grumpily, clearly displeased with the boys’ cheekiness.  
“Yes, Hermione-I understand,” she said, smiling bemusedly. 

Ron and Hermione went back up to Gryffindor Tower, to change into day clothes for the visit to Hogsmeade after the lunch hour. Harry walked with Pandora down an empty corridor, the marble floor beneath them sprinkled with Christmassy light from the sunshine spliced by the stained glass window. He held her hand.  
“I’m sorry if I just launched in, back there. Me, Ron, Hermione, we’re used to working out a mystery…but this isn’t just some random collection of facts and holes for us to fill in, this is your life,” Harry said.  
“Oh, its still a mystery! And no less to me than to all of you, trust me,” Dora said.  
Harry laughed. “Don’t forget to give Sirius that letter, when we come home this weekend.”  
“I don’t know about that…” Dora said.  
Harry’s dark eyebrows knitted. “What? Before we were attacked by those Death Eaters on Monday night, you said you would!”  
“That was before I learned about the silphium. I admit, I was rather taken aback that you would tell your friends what you saw in our shared thoughts, let alone invite them to view it in a Scrying Bowl like a penny peep show in some den of vices in Londinium,” Dora said.  
“I’m sorry, I should have asked your permission,” Harry said.  
Dora waved a dismissive hand. “That’s all right, if you hadn’t done it, I wouldn’t know that its possible Severus and my father experimented on me with some rare ancient herb when I was a baby. To what end, I don’t know, but this is how he may repay his debt to me.”  
Harry sighed with annoyance. “Dora, what debt? All this old-fashioned chivalric rubbish about wizard’s debts…what’s it matter? Do you really want him paying you back? A mad scientist Death Eater?”  
“Harry! Surely you must see? If ever there is something about my body, my past, that I must know and cannot find out any other way, Severus is the only person I can ask, and it would only be prudent to retain the Calling Rune, the only means which I have to contact him,” Dora said.  
“Maybe he figured on that. Look, we reckon he asked you to marry him to make it easier for you two to flee Voldemort: a man and his wife travelling, nothing to see here, you know, in case you were stopped and questioned. He wanted to get you somewhere he feels is safe. But, assuming he really does just want to protect you, how long is he going to be able to do that? When people try to resist Voldemort or go back on their promise to serve him, they end up dead. The Dark Mark isn’t just a tattoo, it’s a tracking device. Is it even possible to resist when he calls? Does he know where they are at all times?” Harry said. “Let the Rune go: Snape will lead Voldemort to you even if his intention is the opposite.”  
Dora sighed, taking all this in. “You’re right. I’ll have to let go…and trust what I can do on my own.”  
“Not on your own. You’ve got me, Ron, and Hermione,” Harry said.  
Dora gave him a quick, parting kiss, and said, “I’m glad I have you. All three of you! I’m going to go up and change for Hogsmeade. Wait here.”  
Harry nodded.  
Dora went up to the Ravenclaw Dormitory.  
“Dora! You have to come to Merlini’s with us! Best pizza in Hogsmeade!” Mordecai said.  
“It’s the only pizza in Hogsmeade,” Kashmira pointed out. “And, a great place to study.”  
“We can put Sickles in the jukebox, play music from the 80s, and cram for that Transfiguration midterm,” Cressida said.  
“Somachandra’s headed up to the village already with his girlfriend, Parvati. She’s in Gryffindor,” Kashmira said.  
“Oh, I’ll try to swing by….I think Harry wants to show me the Goblin Market,” Pandora said, putting on a normal voice, as if she was just a typical teenage witch…not the object of a ghoul’s misplaced affections, and possibly the target of a dark wizard, all because of a magical substance in her blood as the result of an alchemical experiment in her infancy.  
“At the risk of sounding like Roger Shepherd…that place is a travesty. A bunch of Faer folk performing their culture for the condescending gaze of wizards buying trinkets. They’re refugees, mostly, from the wars in the Summer Faerie Country, and everyone acts like they don’t exist unless its as entertainment. It’s a shame,” Kashmira said.  
“Ugh, has he gotten to you? Don’t tell me you signed that ridiculous petition to get the Merlin window unbolted!” Cressida said.  
“Look, if Riddle really is rising again, how can any of us hope to cooperatively assemble to stop him, when so many witches and wizards who call themselves decent think just like him and his followers? That’s why places like the Goblin Market exist-because they think Wizards are slightly less than the angels, every other race is bestial at worst, amusing in small doses at best. How can we fight Voldemort, when we are Voldemort?” Kashmira said.  
“Not everyone thinks that way!” Cressida said.  
“It’s certainly possible to be insensitive without meaning to. But, as you just said, the Faer at the Market are refugees. For now, selling trinkets, as you call them, or making music is their profession, and if its how they keep body and soul together who are we to deprive them of their living? Wizards have carved this world into its present shape, for good or ill, and from the vantage of our present comfort we owe it to the races we have wronged to help them to reach the things we have denied them, to do something towards repairing the wrongs our indifference has allowed or prejudice has created. Wouldn’t the silk sellers, jewelry forgers, and fiddlers be in a worse state if no one wanted to wear their creations, or hear their songs? Today, we can shop at the Goblin Market. Tomorrow, we can do more. We must do something!” Pandora said.  
Cressida, Kashmira, and Mordecai clapped. Pandora was utterly mystified.  
“Perfect answer! You do think fast, don’t you?” Kashmira said admiringly.  
“Thank you….?” Pandora said. “Were you, per chance, goading me?”  
“Yes, indeed I was! And you responded quite succinctly. I got tired of waiting on Hermione Granger. We’ve been talking about starting a debate club since third year, but it never comes to anything. So, I spoke to Professor McGonagall myself! She likes the idea immensely. Each Coven is going to nominate a representative. I would do it myself, but between being a prefect and taking all those elective courses, Cressie and Mort prevailed upon me to be sensible and let someone else have a shot at it,” Kashmira said. “I think it should be you!”  
“I second that!” Cressie said.  
“Who else? You know your own mind, you’re informed, and you speak like a Member of the Guild!” Mordecai said.  
“Oh….Well, I say, this is all terribly kind, but you’re quite mistaken! I’m not used to speaking like this, at all. My tutor and I had lessons alone together, and he allowed me to ask him all manner of questions, sometimes about matters of history or current affairs, things I had overheard my Uncle talking about, or read in the paper…” Pandora said. “But, it was all kept between us.”  
“However you came by it, you have good instincts and a knack for getting your point across. Hufflepuff is sure to nominate Shepherd, and Gryffindor will surely nominate Hermione Granger, if she has the time. If not, I can’t imagine: the rest are all brawn and not a lot of brain. But I think she’ll take it, for a chance to shut Shepherd down. Are you interested?” Kashmira asked.  
Her friends were all looking at her intently. Pandora thought about it: she had Botany Club, energy magic lessons with Fortune, and weekends at her Uncle Sirius’s house…but she figured she could squeeze in Debate Club.  
“Yes, I’ll tell Professor McGonagall I’m interested!” she said.  
Her friends were happy, but as she jogged upstairs, she realized Kashmira hadn’t put forth any theories about who Slytherin’s debate speaker would be. She hoped it wasn’t Thrale or Eastling, but wouldn’t mind Theodore Nott, a bookish boy she knew from balls-he had a composed, self-contained grace, but wasn’t handsome enough for girls to find him mysterious….then she remembered that his father had been listed on the ‘Death Eaters in Our Midst’ List. Dora’s head was a storm of revelations. Her father, her uncle who had been a surrogate father, her tutor who had opened her mind, all Death Eaters, as were the fathers of boys she had once danced with and taken harmlessly flirty strolls in gardens with, giggly from purloined champagne that made the moon brighter, made her feel more bold and beautiful, and made the boys seem more handsome. Would they, like their fathers, join Voldemort’s dark army of fascist, genocidal wizards, no matter what Fortune and Dumbledore had planned to preserve their innocence?  
Voldemort had conquered her world from the inside, and his poison had lay hidden beneath all the placid, refined beauty of her childhood in the Vale, like a snake curled in the shade of a rosebush.  
Thinking about him made her feel that he could find her, as Harry had said he could always find his Death Eaters. She was not one of them, she did not belong to them, but there was the chance that he wanted to possess her, her very blood. She shook off thoughts of Voldemort, and changed into a navy blue Ravenclaw sweatshirt and jeans. She opened the flap of her book satchel, and, reassured that the Tabula Smaragdina was still with her, went down to meet Harry.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Some Slytherins refer to Dora by a very rude term for the female anatomy.

“Order! Order!” cried the Speaker of the Legislative Branch, Boadicea Mistral, banging her gavel.  
On either side of the aisle, Members of the Guild were shouting at each other, both hereditary and elected peers. The seats of the Legislation Hall were arranged like those in an opera house, tiered walls of balcony seats, centered around the Speaker’s platform, a round dais at the center of the room.   
“My bloody ears. This place is giving me migraines,” Maurice said. He shared a balcony seat with Maurice, since they represented the same district.  
“Oh, bloody hell-its Farrars, standing up for a bloody filibuster to stall the vote, look,” Sirius said.  
“By God, stop him!” Maurice said.   
“With what? I haven’t prepared fifteen hours of rebuttal, myself,” Sirius said.  
Farrars, whose name wasn’t on the list of the morning paper’s ‘Death Eaters in our midst’, but who was awfully close to two members who had been named, requested to speak, and Speaker Boadicea Mistral granted it.   
“My fellow Members of the Guild, my fellow wizards. We have been given a sacred trust,” Farrars said. “The Founding Fathers of our Guild, who saw fit that Wizards should live in proud autonomy rather than in isolation and fear amongst those who feared and threatened us, established not only the four covens, each with their strengths and contributions, but this council wherein wizards of all four covens are heard, represented, and reach compromises that provide for all of our needs. There is our branch, the Legislative, which drafts and passes the most fitting laws. There is the Council of Judges, who study and convene towards the most perfect justice we can reasonably reach in such cases where injury or oversight must be addressed. There is the office of the Executive Magister, who, with deference to the other branches and the to people of Wizardom, oversees the administration of various duties and necessities.   
We are many, but we are one. Our duties are various, but our purpose is one: to preserve the world our predecessors created, to maintain the safety and autonomy of Wizardkind. In times of threat, our duties may change to address unique concerns. But, in times of hysteria, we must hold ever secure to our understanding of our duties.   
Many of our kind, and our fellow Members of the Guild are not exempt, are under the impression that we are under attack, that we are close to open war, that an aggressive campaign from the former Pontifex Rex, Tom Riddle, is imminent.  
Members of the Guild, I ask you, on what grounds? So far, those who believe so have provided only conjecture and the voicing of their own fears.   
Was a young man, Cedric Diggory, murdered during the Triwizard Competition? This cannot be refuted. It is an unfortunate fact. But, the testimony of the only living witness, a minor, testifies only to what this boy thinks that he saw. The renewed use of insignia used by Riddle during his reign, and the claims that he is being sheltered by followers who hide even in our midst, have been voices crying from the wilderness, but they are not physical proof. I may say that Tom Riddle is hiding under Speaker Mistral’s skirt, mayn’t I, but are we willing to subject her to the indignity of having the aforementioned article of clothing thoroughly searched?  
The expansion of the power of the Auror Corps that several of you ask for would be an overreaction on a similar scale. There will be rumors of war, gentlemen and gentlewomen, but shall we cultivate and hasten conflict amongst parties who feel themselves to be accused and aggrieved by pursuing hearsay with undue aggression? Shall we answer a hoax with all our might, and have no wind left for a real challenge? I relinquish my time.”  
To Maurice Buttershaw’s relief, Farrars sat down.  
“Who volunteers the opposing argument?” Mistral called.  
“Might as well,” Sirius said in an aside to Maurice, and stood.  
“Member Black! Speak!” Mistral said.  
“Look, you lot, its not that I don’t get your point: why waste time on rumors of Voldemort, Riddle, whatever he’s calling himself these days, when we have bigger fish to fry? There’s the state of the refugees, pouring in from the war torn Faerie Country. How do we house and feed them, what is the most appropriate path to citizenship for them, and what does Wizardom look like with this new population of magical beings whose culture and manners differ so from our’s? There’s the matter of secondary education. What’s the use of sending our kids to Hogwarts for eight years, giving them a Wizard’s education to the detriment, one could say, of the arts, sciences, and mathematics, which could give them a broader future, and enrich our society with unique perspectives and innovations? We train them to be wizards, we expect them to have wizarding careers, but options for secondary education have not varied in centuries, and career options are few and far between. There is the inequity in which Squibs and Muggleborns live, in our society.  
But, Member Farrars and his Coven’s voting record on these matters show that they don’t give a twopenny miraculously flying toss about things like that,” Sirius said, and paused as the laughter of his peers shook the hall. The had been waiting for something to break the tension, and even Speaker Mistral spared a smirk.  
“Their measures do not address the refugees, the children, or the vulnerable, so conversely, it isn’t them they’re looking out for by wanting to kill this bill, which will restore, not pull out of thin air, mind you, some powers to act in the interest of investigation to the Auror Corps. With the abilities that the bill would grant them, concerning potions and incantations they may use to extract confessions, they can more effectively keep law and order, and gather intelligence. Why would Member Farrars, and others whose votes have been along the same lines of his, want to weaken those who keep us safe?   
Well, what do they usually vote yes on? Whatever will keep them comfortable. They’re just fine with tithing rates and trade treaties that keep the rich, rich, and everyone else in their place. So, what are they getting out of killing a bill which may very well lead to the investigation of claims that Voldemort lives, and is active amongst us? What are they getting out of insisting that such claims are hearsay?   
The wheel keeps turning, doesn’t it? If there is truth in these claims, if recent reports that there are those among us who do actively work towards Tom Riddle’s return to power, if these claims cannot be adequately investigated, then the wheel keeps turning in favor of those who support the future that Riddle has promised them-even if that isn’t to the good of us all,” Sirius said. “I relinquish my time.”  
He sat beside Maurice.  
The shouting resumed.  
“What have you done?” Maurice said. “The Muggles have a pithy saying amongst the youth for that kind of incendiary statement. It is tantamount to saying, ‘Come at me, bro’.”  
Sirius laughed, but his usual hoarse guffaw was muted. He was quite breathless.   
“Maybe I got through to someone, out there-its why we spend all afternoon running our mouths, isn’t it? To get through to each other?” Sirius said. “We need a real, thorough, impartial investigation of where Voldemort is, and what he’s planning. You were in short pants licking a lolly when the last war was on, Maury, you don’t know. It was ugly. We were all just spies, really, guerillas, trying to get each other down and in the dirt in the shadows. If we do it right this time, maybe we can avoid that.”  
“You’re persuasive. You’re engaging. Of course, I hope the vote goes our way. But, there’s a reason that whistleblower who spoke to the Daily Prophet is anonymous-you’ve just put your name and face on the accusation that some of those amongst us are deliberately subverting justice because they are Death Eaters,” Maurice said. “and I say again, that is effectively to say, ‘Come at me, bro.’”  
“When I accepted this seat, I knew there would be scrutiny. I knew I’d make enemies. But, Harry and Remus are as safe as they’re going to be anywhere in Hogsmeade. Dumbledore wouldn’t let anything happen to them while I’m here,” Sirius said. “If anyone who doesn’t like what I said today wants to come at me, I’ll be quite available in Londinium.”  
“You’re mad,” Maurice said.  
“And you’re getting squirrely. Anthea’s pregnant, you’re falling in love with that baby. This is a new kind of love, and that’s giving you a new kind of fear. I saw it with James,” Sirius said.  
Maurice thought of himself and Sirius as quite close friends, but since Sirius was older he was something of a big brother and mentor figure. A pang of jealousy knitted in his heart whenever he mentioned James Potter. Whatever confidences Sirius shared with him, they could never compare to his boyhood and wartime comradery with James Potter, who had also nobly sacrificed his life for his wife and son.   
“But, he kept fighting,” Maurice pointed out, like a child being scolded and irritably interjecting the other half of a trite parable being used to instruct him.  
“Yes. Because he realized that the safety we all seek for the people we love comes from creating a safe world, a just, fair, and equal world, and we can’t wait for someone else to do it while we do nothing and stay quiet. I’m not trying to court reprisal by making an accusation in the heat of the moment. I’m also not going to lose sleep about getting a pack of Death Eaters cross at me. They are who they are, and they want things that would crush everyone who’s not them into the dust, to create a world where the undesirable disappear. I had to bloody say something about that. Come what may, if you want to put it like that,” Sirius said.  
“A better world is worth the risk,” Maurice concluded.  
“This isn’t news to you. You didn’t wander in from the rain, Maurice. You’re here to use your voice, too,” Sirius said kindly, and gave Maurice a brotherly punch on the shoulder, then a brief hug.   
“Silence! Arguments have been heard. Members of the Guild, submit your vote,” Mistral cried.  
A ‘yes’ vote was indicated by illuminating a cylindrical rock crystal object on the lap desk in front of each member. Sirius and Maurice turned on their lights.

“Ready?” Harry asked.   
Dora walked down the stairs towards him, wearing a sweater and jeans, so different from the girl in the red velvet dress he had first met weeks ago, and yet it was her, all the same, with the adventurous glint in her eye, the smirk of ready irony about her full, rosy lips, and all that wild, waving, dark brown hair…  
“Ready!” she confirmed. “But, are you sure you’re ready for the sight of a Hogwarts carriage again?”  
Harry laughed. “Got to get back on the horse that threw you, sometime, right? Or the hippogriff,” he said.  
“Quite. Are we sharing a ride with Ron and Hermione?” Pandora asked.  
Harry shook his head. “Thought it could just be us,” he said. “are you sure you’re all right, after the things we talked about in the library?”  
They walked towards the exit designated for students going to Hogsmeade, the door down the long corridor that led to the Great Hall, surrounded by classmates meeting up and chattering with their friends.  
Dora was weighing her words, Harry could tell. Eventually she said, “If I hadn’t found you, and my Uncle Sirius, and Dr. Lupin-I would have no one to trust, right now. Harry, my father, Uncle Lucius, and Professor Snape, my teacher, were all Death Eaters. And I can only assume that the women I grew up being instructed and nurtured by played their prescribed role in Riddle’s movement as well. Its as if the world has been dyed a strange color, but I couldn’t see it until my eyes were properly opened. Now, that dye stains all my memories of childhood, and even the stories I had been told about my parents.”  
Harry couldn’t imagine that. He knew that Sirius had left his family, partially because he didn’t agree with what they stood for, but he saw now in Dora’s anguish how that must feel-the place where you are from, the people you love, all tainted by Voldemort’s violence and exclusionist ideology.  
He took Dora’s hand, entwined their fingers, and hugged her round her waist, gently pulling her close to him, her head resting perfectly on his shoulder as they walked.  
“You’re safe, now. I promise, you’ll never have to go back,” Harry said.  
She smiled at him, but a sad and only half convinced smile. He figured that the shock of finding out that her father had been a Death Eater, and about the rare substance in her blood, would not abate quickly or easily. He caressed her lower back, and she closed her eyes and purred, savoring his touch.   
Harry smiled. “That was a cute little noise you just made,” he said.  
“What? I didn’t make any noise!” Pandora said mock scandalized.  
Harry laughed. “Yes, you did,” he said, “When I did this,” and he caressed the small of her back, once again. Dora made that purring little “mmmm” sound he had been seeking, and Harry looked forward to her playful rebuttal that she hadn’t made such a sound. Then, words cut through the din of students exiting the castle into the sunshine of the spring day.  
“Pandora Black, shamelessly showing herself off again.”  
Harry glanced out of the side of his eye and matched the voice to Deverell Eastling, a Slytherin boy.   
Blaise, another Slytherin, said, “Who cares? She’s chosen her lot, hasn’t she? Rubbing against a blood traitor like she can’t wait to give it away...”  
“Pardon me?!” Dora said loudly, whirling around to face the Slytherin boys. Harry grabbed her arm, but she wrenched it away.  
“Apologize, both of you,” Harry demanded. Blaise Zabini gave a soundless, blasé laugh in deference to the unlikelihood of Harry’s demand.  
Eastling pointedly ignored Harry, as if he was beneath his notice, and said with palpable disgust to Pandora, “I told you what I think of you, and not to address me.”  
“You have no right to judge me,” Pandora said, seething with outrage.  
“Is it judging, or observing what we see?” Blaise said coldly.  
“Tell your mum that the next time she sues a newspaper for calling her… was it a ‘golddigger’? A ‘black widow’? Just casual observations, in’it?” Harry said.   
Blaise readied his fist to throw a punch, but as he drew back his hand Dora pulled out her wand. Before Blaise could hex Harry she cast, “Vinculum!” and Blaise was suddenly bound with ropes so tightly about his torso that he fell over. Before Eastling could cast anything, Harry disarmed him with ‘Expelliarmus!’….but, that shouldn’t have sent him flying and skidding into the school gardens the way he did.  
“Oy, what’s to do, here?” Hagrid demanded, looking up from the goats he was prodding to eat the weeds where he planned to transplant bushes of ocean pearls, a delicious Faerie berry that grew on the island of Avalon. “There’s to be no fightin’, you lot!”  
“Sorry, Mr. Hagrid, but this toerag just insulted my cousin’s honor!” Lucy cried. She was wearing a boy’s school uniform with a Hufflpuff tie. She had stunned Deverell with a well aimed ‘Stupefy!’   
Hermione rushed over. “Hagrid, what’s going on?” she asked, a bit out of breath from running.  
Before Hagrid could answer, Blaise, struggling in his ropes, said, “You’re a bloody prefect! Do something!”  
“I don’t even know what happened,” Hermione said coldly.  
“They were talking about Dora, saying disgusting things about her, then Blaise tried to punch me,” Harry said.  
“And that mad little cunt hexed me! And then that reedy voiced, spot faced cousin of her’s, Fanshawe, from Hufflepuff, jumped into it,” Blaise said.   
Hagrid picked Deverell up and slung him over his shoulder. “Stun’s just about worn off, but he’s still twitching. Madam Pomfrey’ll set him right, its not serious.”  
“Sounds like you and Eastling started it,” Hermione said.  
“That’s not the point! Pandora Black hexed me, Potter disarmed Eastling, and Ptolemy Fanshawe stunned him. You should be marching them up to their Coven Guardian. I’ll be sure to inform mine of this,” Blaise said.  
“Well, I can’t imagine Professor Fortune will be best pleased with the language you used. You referred to Miss Black as a ‘cunt’ in my presence, I can only imagine what slander was the catalyst of this incident. That’s called sexual harassment, Zabini-one incident doesn’t look well on you, not to speak of a pattern of it. Pandora, is this the first time Blaise and Deverell have given you a hard time in that manner?” Hermione asked.  
Pandora, still clutching her wand, said, “No. They called me a blood traitor, and said Harry’s family was a plague house of traitors, after they saw him kiss me in Fortune’s class. And, they told me to go home, and leave school to Draco.”  
Harry and Lucy looked shocked. Hermione nodded satisfactorily.  
“Hmm…using pejorative terms towards Miss Black, demeaning her right to be at school by insinuating her male cousin has more right, and taking issue with who she chooses to date….sounds like sexual harassment to me, Zabini. I will be going to Professors Sinistra and Fortune about this,” Hermione said.  
“No! Hermione, don’t!” Pandora said.   
“Are you mad? Detention is the least of what those swine deserve!” Harry said.  
“Now, there’s an idea. I should Transfigure you into a little pink piggie, Blaise,” Lucy taunted, but Hermione gave her a deathly glare.  
“Hermione, its not a big deal. Cressie Beverley says they treat all the girls from the Vale that start their schooling this way,” Pandora said.  
“So that makes it okay?” Harry asked sarcastically.  
“Not in front of me, they don’t,” Hermione said. “When we return from Hogsmeade, I’m telling Sinistra, your Guardian, and Fortune, their’s. I’m a Prefect, that’s what we do, Dora. Come on, let’s find Ron and get a carriage.”  
Harry and Dora had planned to ride alone, but there was no saying no to this lightning eyed, thunderously striding Hermione.   
“Ptolemy, you stick close to your cousin, and her friends-don’t want you hexing or Transfigurin’ nobody,” Hagrid warned.  
Lucy glumly agreed, and cast, ‘Fin l’enchantement,” over him, instead.   
The ropes Dora had cast unbound and disappeared. She waved to Hagrid, who still had a twitching Deverell over his shoulder, and caught up with Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Dora. They found Ron, and all got into a black, hippogriff drawn carriage. They filled Ron in on what had happened, and Ron gave Hermione a high five when she vowed again to turn Deverell and Blaise in.  
“Nail ‘em to the wall, ‘Mione,” he said.  
She laughed, and said, “Where did you pick that expression up?”  
“Some Muggle movie. Cops always say it, don’t they, in the movies?” Ron said.  
“Dora, why didn’t you want Hermione to tell a Professor?” Harry asked.  
“Because she’s daft! She’s obsessed with being ladylike and proper, even if it means letting people leave footprints on her face! Look at all that business with Professor Snape. She wanted to be educated so badly she put up with him breathing all over her! And we had to live with him! His quarters smelled like medicine powders and old shoes!” Lucy said.  
Ron laughed, but Dora snapped, “I believe he asked me, not you! Be quiet!”  
“Why should I be quiet, and let you be daft?” Lucy said. “You have the right to be daft, but I don’t have the right to talk?”  
“God, when this one meets Ginny, we’ll not have any peace,” Ron said.  
Answering Harry’s question, Dora said, “I just don’t want to make a fuss. I want to go to school, it doesn’t matter that it’s not easy.”  
“You don’t have to put up with people making it hard for you, either. You said nothing. We had no idea they were harassing you. Dora, its not rude to stand up for yourself, you know. You’ve got to, when there’s a reason to,” Harry said.  
“I’m sorry,” Dora said.  
Lucy rolled her eyes. “You still don’t get it! You’re apologizing to Harry, but you’re the one letting those slimy Slytherins bully you!”  
“Oh, today its slimy Slytherins, I remember when you were telling me we would soon have to defend ourselves from Gryffindor aggression,” Pandora said.  
Ron laughed. “Ptolemy? Were you arming yourself against us?” he joked.  
“Well….you know…just preparing myself to defend the Vale, come what may,” she said.   
Everyone laughed, and the mood became less tense.   
“Pandora, I understand, you don’t want to make a big fuss. But, you mustn’t think of defending yourself as starting trouble. That’s what boys like Blaise and Deverell want the people they harass to think-that what they’re doing is nothing serious, and asking for it to be addressed as the problem it is would be taking things too seriously or too far. Their abuses mount, the prejudices they perpetuate remain powerful tools of intimidation and social imprinting, and the people hurt by them keep things status quo with their silence. Do you want things to change? Do you want a world where girls go to school as a matter of course, they don’t have to run away from home, disguise themselves as a boy, or dally with a man old enough to be their father to get an education,” Hermione said. At the last, Harry scanned Dora’s face for any sign that she was upset by the mention of Snape.   
“Of course I do…then, I must do something, mustn’t I? I will go with you to tell Sinistra and Fortune about Deverell’s and Blaise’s behavior,” Pandora said.  
“I’ll go too,” Harry said.   
“Who else heard or saw them harassing you?” Hermione asked.  
“Somachandra and Kashmira Singh, Cressie Beverley,” Pandora said.  
“And they didn’t encourage you to come forward? Ravenclaws are entirely too timid, sometimes,” Hermione said, then hastily added, “No offense!”  
“None taken,” Pandora said.   
They reached the village, which Pandora had never approached coming to the city limits from Hogwarts castle, before. The idyllic antique buildings, bearded with vines, and cobblestone streets were cheerful and welcoming beneath a clear, blue spring sky.   
“I’m going to check the secondhand shop-I love shopping vintage!” Hermione said.  
“Oh, so do I! I need a nice suit, and Uncle Sirius gave me some ‘walking around money’, he calls it. Capitol fellow, he is!” Lucy said. Ron chuckled at Lucy’s swotty, posh diction, and Dora corrected,   
“He’s my Uncle, your cousin.”  
Lucy blew her a raspberry as she crossed the street with Hermione.  
“I’m gonna head up to the Three Broomsticks, and meet Freddie,” Ron said.  
“Freddie, who?” Harry asked.  
“You know, Freddie Breedlove. He’s in our year, in Gryffindor?” Ron said.   
“Quiet sort, gets good grades, hangs around with that girl, Daisy Spriggs with the bad perm?” Harry said.  
“Yeah, that’s the one. He’s…uh, helping me study for Potions,” Ron said.  
“I’m sure,” Harry said, and winked. Ron waved it away and made a dismissive noise, but seemed cheerfully embarrassed as he headed towards the Three Broomsticks.  
“I’m so confused-I just caught him kissing your cousin,” Harry said.  
“Yes, so did I! I suppose absence does not make the heart grow fonder!” Pandora said.  
“Well, not if you’re trying to forget someone. I know Ron’s real worried about Draco…I guess he just wants to blow off some steam,” Harry said.  
“Only a man would find that logical. ‘I love you, I am worried for you, ergo I shall forget all about you with someone else to alleviate the pressure?’” Pandora said.  
Harry laughed, and acquiesced, “Well, yeah, okay, when you put it that way.”  
They held hands, and walked beneath the painted signs and flower baskets in front of the shops. Each store’s window provided a temptation to stop in: samples of a new crème brulee flavored white mocha truffle at Honeyduke’s, fresh meringue dollops in the window of the bakery, and a large crowd in front of the bookstore which surely meant a celebrity reading and signing event.  
“Who’s in there? Is it a pro Quidditch player? They usually write memoirs when they retire,” Harry asked.  
“No, from the huge cutout in the window, I think its Gilderoy Lockhart, the adventurer,” Pandora said.  
“Ugh, that idiot. He’s got that bloody reality show on WizardWorld Television. I’ve never watched it, even the commercials are annoying,” Harry said.   
Pandora shrugged. “He donates a lot of money to Guildsmen who have to be elected to their seats rather than inheriting them. The ones he likes, anyway. Uncle Lucius reckons he might run for Executive Minister, one day. He’s popular, some find him charismatic, and he’s bought off the right people,” she said.  
“A TV star, Executive Minister of the Guild?” Harry said, incredulous.   
“Well, ever since television was invented, politicians have utilized it as a way to reach and sway people in an intimate and immediate way. Not hard to do, if a politician is handsome and appealing. And, if he’s not, he can at least have a compelling message, and broadcast it to all of Wizardom,” Pandora said.  
“Yeah, but, what if he’s not handsome and doesn’t have a broadly appealing message?” Harry said.  
“Then, I suppose he’d have to do what Voldemort is doing now: speak directly to his base, at gatherings of only his followers, and hope that curiosity builds in a groundswell,” Dora said.   
“Someone like him would run Wizardom into the ground-all he knows how to do is stand in front of a camera. It’ll never happen,” Harry said.  
Dora nodded. “One less thing to worry about imperiling Wizardom, at least. So, shall we start with the Goblin Market?”  
Harry nodded enthusiastically. It was one of his favorite places in Hogsmeade. He could see the enchanted Ferris wheel just over the tops of the small buildings.  
“Yeah, let’s go,” he said. “Dora, whenever something happens like that, with Eastling and Zabini, I want you to know you deserve for someone to stop it.”  
“Thank you,” Dora said.  
“When they start in on me, they talk about me being an orphan, or a halfblood…but, the things they called you….” Harry said.  
“They know that it’s the worst thing that could be said about a woman, so they say things like that hoping it will spread, and everyone will be as through with you as they are. Its intimidation! Hermione is perfectly right, I was ridiculously fearful. I’m so used to playing along to keep the peace, to being a girl in a world ruled by men,” Dora said.   
“This is everyone’s world,” Harry said. “And no one is meant to rule anyone.”  
Dora smiled, the brightness and life restored to her dark gray eyes. She squeezed Harry’s hand, and they kissed as they walked towards the lights and music of the Ferris Wheel. The smell of ever blooming roses greeted them as they approached the vine covered gate whose sign read, ‘The Goblin Market’. They entered with other villagers. Nymphs wearing white dresses that looked sewn from magnolia petals, wearing crowns of flowers and vines on their head, were doing some kind of rustic folk dance in the small square, to the accompaniment of Trooping Faer playing fiddles. Sellers at their stalls hawked enchanted fruits, fabrics, and jewelry, rare potions in glass bottles the colors of jewels with odd shapes, and herbs that gave off enticing whiffs of strange spices.   
“What are those?” Dora asked, and Harry followed her as she flitted over to a stall selling what looked like blown glass orbs cradling fireflies.  
Dora marveled at the light and glass. The seller behind the stall was a woman with long, black hair, and green skin.  
“These are fallen stars, preserved in glass,” she said. “We have some auroras, too,” she added, and handed Harry a globe like a snowglobe, but with pulsing bands of color inside instead of falling snow.  
Dora looked delighted, happy, and beautiful, observing the stars and auroras.   
“And these crystals are Eternal Ice-they never melt,” said the Faerie saleswoman, showing them large, jagged geodes that looked like quartz but were cold to the touch. Harry feared he’d drop it, shocked by the cold!  
“We could get a little of everything, and decorate your room, this weekend, after the Quidditch game,” Harry suggested.  
“That’s perfect!” Dora said, and they selected a bit of everything. They paid, and the Faerie woman wrapped their parcels. She asked for their address, and Harry and Dora watched as the parcel disappeared.  
“Its been delivered,” she said.  
“Marvelous!” Dora said. Harry met her eye and smiled. So, it seemed that she had those moments, too, when magic felt new all over again and she was enchanted with it.  
They continued to other stalls, and tried samples of Faerie fruits and juices that tasted like summer itself, each one flavored to evoke a different month. May was promising and cheerful, June was robust with the jubilance of being let out from school, July was high summer, kinetic and passionate, while August had a languid taste, stoked by the abundant sunshine of the Dog Days. The juices had quite a liberating effect, and Harry felt no bashfulness about caressing the juncture of Dora’s belly and hip, caressing the small of her back, kissing her as they walked.   
“Harry,” she purred, as they passed a shop that sold wreaths and floral crowns.   
“I think its fading. The bruise? Its been a few hours, I think I’m due for another,” he said.  
“No, its not faded, yet. When it fades, not before,” Dora said.  
“Dora…I’ve never felt like this, before,” Harry murmured, burying his face in her soft hair, whispering in her ear, wrapping his arms around her waist. He vaguely suspected something about the air, its scent of flowers and spices of another world, was having an affect on him, but it hadn’t conjured this wild desire. He felt it whenever his skin met Dora’s, whenever their eyes met.  
“Nor have I…God, Harry, I feel like this every time we kiss,” she said, and there was a small moan in her voice. “I wonder what’s in there?” she added and pointed to a silk tent up ahead. 

Harry knew she was just trying to distract them both and followed her to it. The tent was silky, and gold, and when they opened the tent’s flap there were many tantalizingly soft looking pillows lying on the ground. It must be the tent of a seller whose stall wasn’t open that day, Harry figured, but didn’t think about it too deeply. Dora kissed him, passionately, leaving all hesitance behind. By the time they pulled apart to breathe, Harry was dizzy.  
“Oh, Harry…are they right about me? Did I leave decency behind in the Vale?” she said.  
“No! Dora, no! You’re not a….anyway, no woman should be called that. Do what makes you happy. You have the right to do what you want. Dora…I want you, too,” Harry said, confiding the last bit in a vulnerable whisper.   
He kissed Dora, gentler than he had kissed her, feeling out how she felt. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel slut shamed by Eastling and Zabini, but did that mean she wanted to take the lead or be comforted? Harry felt it out by the way she kissed and touched him. He could tell by her touch that she felt liberated, not shamed. Being alone with just him, away from everyone else, made her feel free. Sunshine was caught in the golden silk of the tent’s walls, and the silk shone as if they were inside one of the glass orbs at the market that cradled a fallen star.  
Dora peppered Harry’s neck with kisses too brief to bruise. Harry caressed her back as Dora ended up sitting on his lap, and Harry relaxed into the soft pillows. She kissed his lips, sucking his tongue as it slipped into her mouth.  
Harry groaned. He couldn’t help it, couldn’t hold back. Dora writhed on his lap, making it worse, making it better, depending on how he looked at it. He imagined Provincial Aurors surrounding the tent, wands raised, demanding that they come out of the tent with their hands raised and clothes on, if things went any farther, but his body knew no respect for law. Sweat bloomed beneath his t-shirt and hoodie, heat writhed beneath his skin, and his lower body was sensitive, needy, buzzing with pangs of desire…  
Dora slipped her hands beneath Harry’s t-shirt, and caressed his belly….then her hands went lower, unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans.  
“Its like alchemy,” Dora said.  
Harry made a curious sound rather like, “Hrmm?” His mouth was dry, and his glasses were foggy.  
“How we change for each other. When we touch each other, we transform each other,” she whispered, and kissed his neck as she reached into his boxers, feeling how his body had transformed for her. Wildfire raced up and down Harry’s spine, and he closed his eyes, as it raced through him. He almost wanted to cry. This was such a rollicking feeling, and it threatened to roll his body and pull it under like a rip tide.  
“Dora, can I touch you, too?” Harry asked.  
She nodded. Dora gently took his hand and guided it. He felt soft, silky, pillowy, secret skin, and sun-warmed nectar. Harry’s excitement was unbearable, feeling this secret place within her as she kissed his lips, and her bosom pressed against his chest.  
They kissed, touched, and swallowed each other’s inhales, exhale, and moans.   
“Dora,” Harry said, with a note of warning in his voice, hoping she understood and would move her hand, as the wild feelings racing through him conquered his body utterly, and he couldn’t resist or hold back. He was about to fall over the edge….when the screams began.   
Outside the tent, people were running, screaming. Dora zipped her jeans and righted her sweatshirt, smoothed her hair, adjusted her book satchel, and got her wand ready. Harry took deep breaths, grounding his body as Fortune had taught them, and tried to will his transformed flesh back to normal. When he felt he could, he stood, zipped his jeans, and made sure his wand was ready for a duel. They caught each other’s eyes as they left opened the tent flap.  
The sellers of the Goblin Market were rushing away, Apparating into thin air. In some cases their stalls went with them, in others only their merchandise disappeared, leaving an empty stall or tent.  
Harry caught eyes with a seller of costume wings made of silk and enchantments before he packed up and ran, and asked, “What’s going on? What’s everyone so scared of?”  
“Death Eaters! Destroying the market! Everyone’s running!” said the costume seller, and then he, and his shop, vanished into thin air.  
The Wizards and witches who shopped in the market were running, the Faeries were disappearing, and in the melee, Harry saw them: the wizards in dark robes and silver masks, marching stridently, and overturning the kiosks that remained, or casting spells at them that rendered them into fiery wooden bits, like an explosive had been detonated.  
“How do we get to the gate?” Harry whispered.  
“Those men are not Death Eaters,” Pandora whispered.  
“What? Of course they are, look at them,” Harry said.  
“No!” Pandora hissed determinedly. “Death Eaters never act in daylight! Never! They meet and move by night. Those men are imposters!”   
“All right, then let’s prove it, and end this-people are getting hurt and scared,” Harry said.  
There weren’t many of them, maybe seven. Harry focused on a Death Eater who reached out with his gloved hands and grabbed one of the faerie dancers they had seen earlier.   
“Stupefy!” Harry cried, and the faux Death Eater went flying. His mask flew off. Dora cried,   
“Demasquer tout!” and made a sweeping motion with her wand. All of the Death Eaters’ masks flew from their faces, revealing Crabbe, Goyle, and some eighth year Slytherins Harry knew only by face, not name.   
“What are you lot playing at?” Harry yelled furiously.  
“Taking out the trash! Clearing this Faerie garbage out of Hogsmeade!” said one of the eighth years.  
“Hogsmeade is a wizard village!” Goyle cried furiously, with more animation than Harry had ever seen out of him, as if he was possessed by rage.  
“Secour!” Dora cried, pointing her wand in the air, and unleashing a symbol.  
“I’ve called the local Aurors. You lot can wait to be arrested, or you can scatter. It doesn’t matter. I know your faces, I know your names, and I’ll tell whoever asks me,” Pandora said coldly.  
Harry heard the gunshot-like sound of wizards Apparating in, and Provincial Aurors arrived. They took Harry and Dora’s statements, and took the faux-Death Eaters away in an ominous black wagon.  
“Harry Potter, isn’t it?” one of the Aurors asked.  
Harry nodded. “Yeah,” he confirmed.  
“Try to stay out of trouble for the rest of the year, all right?” said the Auror. He joined his colleagues in the black transport van, and its siren wailed and then disappeared as the van drove out of sight.  
Harry and Dora walked through the half deserted Goblin Market, and through the gate, back into the village.  
“Why would those idiots dress up as Death Eaters?” Harry asked.  
“To scare the Faeries,” Dora said. “To intimidate them out of Hogsmeade. Where shall they go?”   
“Somewhere safe, I’m sure,” Harry said.  
“They say a place is without hope when the Faer entirely forsake it. How can those boys be so blind? The Faer are our ancestors, our protectors and patrons. To think ourselves superior to them is as if an acorn were to scorn the oak tree from which it fell, or a grain of salt the whole ocean!” Pandora said. “Wizards have completely lost sight of our interconnectedness with other magical beings. Oh, bugger-I sound like Roger Shepherd, don’t I?”  
Harry laughed. “Much more attractive,” he said. “How do you know those spells you used? Did Snape show you them, when he was your tutor?”  
“What? Severus? No, no. I simply use words I know. In Latin, French, whatever. Magic happens not because of the words we use, but our intentions,” Pandora said.  
“That makes sense,” Harry said. “I wonder how Fortune’s going to deal with that lot?”  
“Not mercifully, I should think. He has no time for Death Eaters,” Pandora said.  
“I suppose he wouldn’t,” Harry said. “He was one of my mum’s best friends, growing up. She was murdered by that scum. He gave me these pictures of her, from her sixteenth birthday. She looked so happy.”  
Pandora squeezed his hand. “She was beautiful. In that picture at Orchard Grange, from her wedding day, she was so lovely,” Pandora said kindly.  
Harry didn’t know what to say, if ‘thank you’ was appropriate. Then he remembered that Dora’s father had been a Death Eater, and he had just called them all, soundly, scum. Well….they were, weren’t they? There was no arguing that. And, anyway, he had told himself, Regulus’s heart wasn’t really in it. As Sirius had described his brother, he was shy and lacked confidence. He had been weak and sick with grief, not evil. Harry imagined Regulus as a slimmer, more anxious and shy edition of Sirius, a solemn and fragile looking young man, caressing the cheek of his dead wife who lay in their marriage bed, murmuring, “She’s only sleeping” with a madman’s unblinking earnestness. A younger Snape stood at the doorway, and with an opportunist’s patience told his gullible friend, “Only sleeping. And we shall wake her…”  
“Harry! You’re a million miles away,” Pandora said.   
He shook off his thoughts, and said, “Hey, we’re not far from Merlini’s.”  
“The best pizza in Hogsmeade, I hear,” Pandora said.  
“Well, it’s the only pizza in Hogsmeade…but its really good,” Harry said. He could tell Dora was forcing her cheerfulness just a bit, determined to carry on with the day, but she was angry about the abuse of the faerie. Beneath her feigned enthusiasm for Merlini’s was a thoughtful attitude as she replayed what they had just seen, and what it meant.  
“Look, Dora…things are changing. People are choosing sides and doing what they feel they have to do. Some people are right, some people are wrong and ignorant. Some people are trying to hurt others…some people are trying to save others, and do the right thing. The important thing to know is what side you’re on,” Harry said.  
“I’m not my father,” she said, as if she knew what Harry had been thinking. “I know that he was mad, but….I will never go to that side. There is nothing I want badly enough to sell my soul. That will never be my way.”  
“Evil should disgust you-its evil,” Harry said. “What are you feeling right now?”  
“Fear! Disgust! I hate the way this ideology of blood purity and wizard superiority leaves no room for….for…” Dora searched for the word.  
“I think the Americans call it ‘the pursuit of happiness’,” Harry said. “The right to find what makes you happy, and to live it.”  
“Yes, precisely that!” she said. “Where did you hear that?”  
“Dr. Lupin lived in Washington State for a bit, brought all these treasonous ideas about finding your bliss back to Britain,” Harry said. Pandora laughed.  
They found a nondescript brick building that looked like a private residence, save for a small wooden sign that said, “Merlini’s Pizza.”  
They entered, and Harry felt calmer. Merlini’s had a small dining parlor with walls like Professor Fortune’s mill house in Virginia, with visible foundation stones, and a counter and glass case of Italian desserts like canollis and tiramisu. Folksy, lively, Italian music played from an enchanted Victrola, such as Dr. Lupin had at home.  
A waitress appeared, and took their order. Harry ordered them both a slice of Queen Margherita pizza, a canolli, and a glass of cola.  
“Pandora! Are you okay? We heard about the Goblin Market! Aurors were called,” Kashmira Singh said, bursting into the small restaurant.  
“I know-I called them,” Pandora said.  
Kashmira raised an appealingly thick, glossily dark eyebrow in interest, and seemed impressed by Dora’s sang froid. She was followed into the restaurant by her twin brother, Somachandra Singh, and his girlfriend, Parvati Patil, who was in Harry’s year and Coven, Gryffindor, Cressida Beverley, a Ravenclaw with bright blue eyes, curly hair, and an altogether pleasing and appealing appearance and personality, and Mordecai Gorse, the Ravenclaw seeker. He was a tall, handsome boy who resembled a young Prince Charles.   
“We’ve simply got to stop meeting like this, Harry,” he said, referencing the fact that they would have to face off against each other the following day at Quidditch.  
“I think you’re trying to psych me out, Mort,” Harry said, and they both laughed.  
“We remembered that we said you two would be going there, to the Market…oh, Pandy, are you sure you’re all right?” Cressida said.  
“I promise, dear, I’m all right,” Pandora said. “Come on, everyone will hear soon enough, up at school, better you hear it from me and Harry.”  
Harry, Dora, the Ravenclaws and Parvati sat at a table in the corner of the pizzeria, and Harry and Dora told them about the faux Death Eaters, Slytherin students trying to intimidate faeries.  
As soon as they were done telling their story, the speculation began. “How do you think Fortune is going to handle this? He said at breakfast he was going to take a hard line on all of this Death Eater business,” Somachandra said.   
“No doubt, that’s why this occurred,” Parvati said. “Its rebellion against him, from the first.”  
Harry thought about that. When she was hanging around her best friend, Lavender Brown, Ron’s ex, Parvati let Lavender take the lead and suffered from it: they both came off as boy crazy and obsessed with planning their lives according to Astrology. But, he found this to be a clearheaded observation: Rob Fortune had referred to himself as Muggleborn, alluded that he had refused to be a Death Eater as a young man, had travelled in America and practiced a hodge podge of magic he had picked up here and there, dressed like a Muggle and talked like one. He was as unlikely a Coven Guardian for Slytherin’s school house as Hagrid.   
Harry fetched everyone’s pizza from the counter when it was ready, handed to him by the same ponytailed waitress who had taken his order and cashiered him. If there was a Signore Merlini, he seemed to stay in the kitchen and focus on his craft.   
“Well, I’ve heard a lot of vile things have been happening, with Faer and Goblins, Werewolves and such, but for Hogwarts students to be involved? This won’t look well on Dumbledore. I don’t want them to sack him and bring in some Guild approved drone,” Mordecai said. “That man has a characteristic stamp, like the Wizards of old. Its like learning under Merlin himself! What a wizard needs most is originality!”  
“No one’s getting rid of Dumbledore,” Harry said quickly.  
“As if they could! You see, the way the Guild was laid out originally, there was the Pontifex Rex, which means Priest and King, and then the Mayor of the Castle-the Castle, being Hogwarts. Now, the Mayor of the Castle was the keeper of Hogwarts, not just the Headmaster of a school. It’s an ancient role, and there are all sorts of attunements and investiture rituals and such with that sort of thing. I’d reckon on Professor Dumbledore staying where he is for the rest of his life,” Cressida said.  
“Attunements?” Harry asked.  
“Energy transfer rituals,” Dora explained. “Like when you become a wizard’s apprentice. Your Master shares their energy with you, and you…sort of become apart of them.”  
“So, Dumbledore is apart of Hogwarts?” Harry asked. “Like one of the ghosts?”  
The Ravenclaws and Parvati laughed.  
“Sort of, but, rather, alive,” Somachandra said.  
“You two had quite an ordeal…but, at least there is the consolation of pizza,” Kashmira said. “Have you ever had it before, Dora?”  
Dora, who had just taken a bite and was chewing, shook her head. She swallowed, and said, “I love it! The sauce, the cheese…oh, its delightfully Mediterranean! I don’t care for that astringent drink, though!”  
Kashmira, Parvai, and Cressida laughed. “It takes a while to get used to the bubbles!” Cressida said. “There is nothing like Coca Cola in the Vale!”  
“How ‘bout some music?” Somachandra suggested.   
“Yeah, all right. We could use some cheesy music. ‘Man Down Under’? ‘Wake Me Up Before You Go, Go’?” Harry said.  
“Oh, yes, something along those lines!” Kashmira said.  
Harry gestured for Dora to the jukebox.  
“You pick,” he said.  
“Harry…” Dora said shyly. “I don’t know any of these songs.”  
Harry had forgotten how much she was experiencing for the first time. He thought of the tent, of the Astronomy Tower, the greenhouse and orchid house, and the most precious to him, although every time their bodies met even briefly was precious, the master bedroom at Orchard Grange, the family home he had never known of, where Dora seemed to belong so naturally. All their kisses were a first, too. He wanted to give Dora nothing but happiness, although there was so much danger in the air.   
Harry put some change in the jukebox, and said, “I think you’ll like this one,” as he selected ‘Because the Night’ by Bruce Springsteen.  
“Dance with me?” he said.  
She looked over at their friends, and back at Harry.  
“Come on, you must dance all the time in the Vale. At balls?” he said.  
“Sure, the waltz, the cotillion, the quadrille…the occasional reel, at a small informal gathering,” Pandora said. “How do you dance to Bruce Springsteen?”  
“We’ll figure it out,” Harry said.  
He took Dora’s hands. They danced, and the silliness of the moment became their dance. Dora was happy, as happy as Harry wished for her to be, laughing, her wild, curly dark brown hair tossing all around her shoulders. Their friends laughed, but with them, not at him, and no danger could touch them. There was only music, and laughter.   



	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius and Maurice vote for a thorough investigation of Voldemort's whereabouts; Severus and Regulus come to a truce and plan to kidnap Dora from the Quidditch match; Remus can't believe his happiness, Sirius reassures him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first Harry Potter fic is officially two months old, today! This has been giving me a lot of joy, and I'm glad other people enjoy it, too. This chapter sets up some pretty big things, like Dora's kidnapping, why Voldemort is looking for the alchemist, Perrier Flamel, and both Harry and Ginny finding out some secrets about themselves....so, stay tuned!
> 
> Mild Lemon here, between Sirius and Remus  
> These scenes take place the same day as Harry's and Dora's trip to the Goblin Market from Chapter 33

“Order! Order!” cried the Speaker of the Legislative Branch, Boadicea Mistral, banging her gavel.  
On either side of the aisle, Members of the Guild were shouting at each other, both hereditary and elected peers. The seats of the Legislation Hall were arranged like those in an opera house, tiered walls of balcony seats, centered around the Speaker’s platform, a round dais at the center of the room.  
“My bloody ears. This place is giving me migraines,” Maurice said. He shared a balcony seat with Maurice, since they represented the same district.  
“Oh, bloody hell-its Farrars, standing up for a bloody filibuster to stall the vote, look,” Sirius said.  
“By God, stop him!” Maurice said.  
“With what? I haven’t prepared fifteen hours of rebuttal, myself,” Sirius said.  
Farrars, whose name wasn’t on the list of the morning paper’s ‘Death Eaters in our midst’, but who was awfully close to two members who had been named, requested to speak, and Speaker Boadicea Mistral granted it.  
“My fellow Members of the Guild, my fellow wizards. We have been given a sacred trust,” Farrars said. “The Founding Fathers of our Guild, who saw fit that Wizards should live in proud autonomy rather than in isolation and fear amongst those who feared and threatened us, established not only the four covens, each with their strengths and contributions, but this council wherein wizards of all four covens are heard, represented, and reach compromises that provide for all of our needs. There is our branch, the Legislative, which drafts and passes the most fitting laws. There is the Council of Judges, who study and convene towards the most perfect justice we can reasonably reach in such cases where injury or oversight must be addressed. There is the office of the Executive Magister, who, with deference to the other branches and the to people of Wizardom, oversees the administration of various duties and necessities.  
We are many, but we are one. Our duties are various, but our purpose is one: to preserve the world our predecessors created, to maintain the safety and autonomy of Wizardkind. In times of threat, our duties may change to address unique concerns. But, in times of hysteria, we must hold ever secure to our understanding of our duties.  
Many of our kind, and our fellow Members of the Guild are not exempt, are under the impression that we are under attack, that we are close to open war, that an aggressive campaign from the former Pontifex Rex, Tom Riddle, is imminent.  
Members of the Guild, I ask you, on what grounds? So far, those who believe so have provided only conjecture and the voicing of their own fears.  
Was a young man, Cedric Diggory, murdered during the Triwizard Competition? This cannot be refuted. It is an unfortunate fact. But, the testimony of the only living witness, a minor, testifies only to what this boy thinks that he saw. The renewed use of insignia used by Riddle during his reign, and the claims that he is being sheltered by followers who hide even in our midst, have been voices crying from the wilderness, but they are not physical proof. I may say that Tom Riddle is hiding under Speaker Mistral’s skirt, mayn’t I, but are we willing to subject her to the indignity of having the aforementioned article of clothing thoroughly searched?  
The expansion of the power of the Auror Corps that several of you ask for would be an overreaction on a similar scale. There will be rumors of war, gentlemen and gentlewomen, but shall we cultivate and hasten conflict amongst parties who feel themselves to be accused and aggrieved by pursuing hearsay with undue aggression? Shall we answer a hoax with all our might, and have no wind left for a real challenge? I relinquish my time.”  
To Maurice Buttershaw’s relief, Farrars sat down.  
“Who volunteers the opposing argument?” Mistral called.  
“Might as well,” Sirius said in an aside to Maurice, and stood.  
“Member Black! Speak!” Mistral said.  
“Look, you lot, its not that I don’t get your point: why waste time on rumors of Voldemort, Riddle, whatever he’s calling himself these days, when we have bigger fish to fry? There’s the state of the refugees, pouring in from the war torn Faerie Country. How do we house and feed them, what is the most appropriate path to citizenship for them, and what does Wizardom look like with this new population of magical beings whose culture and manners differ so from our’s? There’s the matter of secondary education. What’s the use of sending our kids to Hogwarts for eight years, giving them a Wizard’s education to the detriment, one could say, of the arts, sciences, and mathematics, which could give them a broader future, and enrich our society with unique perspectives and innovations? We train them to be wizards, we expect them to have wizarding careers, but options for secondary education have not varied in centuries, and career options are few and far between. There is the inequity in which Squibs and Muggleborns live, in our society.  
But, Member Farrars and his Coven’s voting record on these matters show that they don’t give a twopenny miraculously flying toss about things like that,” Sirius said, and paused as the laughter of his peers shook the hall. The had been waiting for something to break the tension, and even Speaker Mistral spared a smirk.  
“Their measures do not address the refugees, the children, or the vulnerable, so conversely, it isn’t them they’re looking out for by wanting to kill this bill, which will restore, not pull out of thin air, mind you, some powers to act in the interest of investigation to the Auror Corps. With the abilities that the bill would grant them, concerning potions and incantations they may use to extract confessions, they can more effectively keep law and order, and gather intelligence. Why would Member Farrars, and others whose votes have been along the same lines of his, want to weaken those who keep us safe?  
Well, what do they usually vote yes on? Whatever will keep them comfortable. They’re just fine with tithing rates and trade treaties that keep the rich, rich, and everyone else in their place. So, what are they getting out of killing a bill which may very well lead to the investigation of claims that Voldemort lives, and is active amongst us? What are they getting out of insisting that such claims are hearsay?  
The wheel keeps turning, doesn’t it? If there is truth in these claims, if recent reports that there are those among us who do actively work towards Tom Riddle’s return to power, if these claims cannot be adequately investigated, then the wheel keeps turning in favor of those who support the future that Riddle has promised them-even if that isn’t to the good of us all,” Sirius said. “I relinquish my time.”  
He sat beside Maurice.  
The shouting resumed.  
“What have you done?” Maurice said. “The Muggles have a pithy saying amongst the youth for that kind of incendiary statement. It is tantamount to saying, ‘Come at me, bro’.”  
Sirius laughed, but his usual hoarse guffaw was muted. He was quite breathless.  
“Maybe I got through to someone, out there-its why we spend all afternoon running our mouths, isn’t it? To get through to each other?” Sirius said. “We need a real, thorough, impartial investigation of where Voldemort is, and what he’s planning. You were in short pants licking a lolly when the last war was on, Maury, you don’t know. It was ugly. We were all just spies, really, guerillas, trying to get each other down and in the dirt in the shadows. If we do it right this time, maybe we can avoid that.”  
“You’re persuasive. You’re engaging. Of course, I hope the vote goes our way. But, there’s a reason that whistleblower who spoke to the Daily Prophet is anonymous-you’ve just put your name and face on the accusation that some of those amongst us are deliberately subverting justice because they are Death Eaters,” Maurice said. “and I say again, that is effectively to say, ‘Come at me, bro.’”  
“When I accepted this seat, I knew there would be scrutiny. I knew I’d make enemies. But, Harry and Remus, and my nieces we just took in, are as safe as they’re going to be anywhere in Hogsmeade. Dumbledore wouldn’t let anything happen to them while I’m here,” Sirius said. “If anyone who doesn’t like what I said today wants to come at me, I’ll be quite available in Londinium.”  
“You’re mad,” Maurice said.  
“And you’re getting squirrely. Anthea’s pregnant, you’re falling in love with that baby. This is a new kind of love, and that’s giving you a new kind of fear. I saw it with James,” Sirius said.  
Maurice thought of himself and Sirius as quite close friends, but since Sirius was older he was something of a big brother and mentor figure. A pang of jealousy knitted in his heart whenever he mentioned James Potter. Whatever confidences Sirius shared with him, they could never compare to his boyhood and wartime comradery with James Potter, who had also nobly sacrificed his life for his wife and son.  
“But, he kept fighting,” Maurice pointed out, like a child being scolded and irritably interjecting the other half of a trite parable being used to instruct him.  
“Yes. Because he realized that the safety we all seek for the people we love comes from creating a safe world, a just, fair, and equal world, and we can’t wait for someone else to do it while we do nothing and stay quiet. I’m not trying to court reprisal by making an accusation in the heat of the moment. I’m also not going to lose sleep about getting a pack of Death Eaters cross at me. They are who they are, and they want things that would crush everyone who’s not them into the dust, to create a world where the undesirable disappear. I had to bloody say something about that. Come what may, if you want to put it like that,” Sirius said.  
“A better world is worth the risk,” Maurice concluded.  
“This isn’t news to you. You didn’t wander in from the rain, Maurice. You’re here to use your voice, too,” Sirius said kindly, and gave Maurice a brotherly punch on the shoulder, then a brief hug.  
“Silence! Arguments have been heard. Members of the Guild, submit your vote,” Mistral cried.  
A ‘yes’ vote was indicated by illuminating a cylindrical rock crystal object on the lap desk in front of each member. Sirius and Maurice turned on their lights.

The Vampire and the Ghoul sat at the gleaming ebony wood dining table in the dining room of 12, Grimmauld Place. The walls were a faded emerald green silk, and a portrait of Walburga Black, Regulus’s late mother, looked down on them sternly. The house elf, Kreacher, fussed over the Vampire, offering him more orange juice and Earl Grey tea.  
“I always appreciate your attentions, Kreacher, but I have no appetite, this morning,” Regulus said. Vampires, contrary to Muggle’s pop culture mythos, could eat and drink-their tragedy was that no ordinary sustenance could sustain them, only blood.  
“Ask Severus if he’d like anything,” Regulus instructed Kreacher.  
“Serve the Ghoul? Master is too kind. Master is a gentle soul. Master Regulus doesn’t understand that Ghouls are filthy, skulking, dirt eating beasts who are more fit for graveyards than gentlemens’ homes,” Kreacher said.  
“And what of Vampires? Is your master not more fit for a Balkan cave or Transylvanian ruin, than a London townhouse?” Severus said coldly.  
“Master is the last Heir of the Noble and Most Ancient, Perpetually Pure House of Black! You are a filthy, rotting Ghoul! Master is kind to keep such a wretched beast for a servant!” Kreacher fired back. Snape aimed a deathly glare at the house elf.  
“Enough, enough! Look, the both of you have to shape up before Pandora’s arrival. I want her to have a few comfortable nights’ rest here in London, before we make the interdimensional journey to Heliopolis. Right now, time is on our side. From what I have been able to overhear in certain dens of iniquity during my nightly jaunts to Londinium’s worst haunts, they say our former Lord and Master is not what he was. He has some sort of…curse upon him. He is closely attended. This is not information that is widely distributed, mind. But, if it is true, it explains the erratic character of events since his return. He’s not found Flamel yet, I can feel it. He is not what he was, and he does not have the organization about him that he used to. Some of the old hands from our day, but old is the operative word…and of the young men, they are either lazy, stupid, and spoiled or angry and half-cocked,” Regulus said. “The point is, we should have time, once you extract her from Hogsmeade, to explain things properly to her. I want Pandora to feel comfortable here. You will not visit her with any more…lascivious attentions, Severus, and Kreacher, you will be your most pleasant self.”  
“Kreacher will serve Mistress Pandora as well as I have served Master Regulus. This is her rightful home,” Kreacher said, with an earnestness Severus hadn’t suspected the elf of.  
Regulus looked pleased. “Very, very good Kreacher. Severus?”  
“I was never….lascivious, towards Pandora,” Snape said with distaste. “I was struggling, against your orders. It is not the nature of a Ghoul to struggle against their Master. I was fighting my very cellular structure, fighting the blood we share. There were times when I was so, so very hungry, I needed more nourishing blood to strengthen me to resist you, and her blood was so young, so strong, and infused with silphium, the closest thing to ambrosia on this earth. And…my mind…it sometimes threw me into the past, and I saw her as Ada. I was with her once more, at the Emerald Order, we were young, with a future before us, and…”  
“You never had a future with Ada. You consistently forget that she was my wife, as you habitually forgot in school that she was my betrothed,” Regulus said.  
“She neglected to mention it until she absolutely had to,” Snape said.  
Regulus’s aristocratic, graciously aloof sang froid flickered into an annoyed expression that he quickly smoothed over.  
“So, you thought that Pandora was Ada?” Regulus said.  
“At times…and I felt things I did not think myself capable of any longer. Love, affection, desire. But, I am not a monster. I’ve been a professor for over a decade, and I can assure you I have never felt the slightest hint of sexual interest for any of the spot faced, long legged, hair tossing, gum cracking brats in my classes…when I looked at Pandora, I saw only Ada. And it was Ada I wanted,” he said. “I did not know I could want anything, anymore. I remember loving her as I remember nothing else about my life. Everything is in black and white, only she has color, in my memory. But, meeting Pandora again brought back violent shades of memory.”  
“If either you or Ada had told me how much you loved each other, we could have….come to some kind of cooperative arrangement,” Regulus said. “It was the lying about it to my face that irked me, when anyone watching the two of you at work in the laboratory together, walking together or just standing next to each other would think they were watching…oh, I don’t know, Paris and Helen.”  
Severus laughed humorlessly. Certainly no one had ever compared him to the dashing prince of Troy, before!  
“You would have approved us cuckolding you?” Severus said.  
“It wasn’t Ada’s body I loved,” Regulus said.  
“Nor did I. She was beautiful…flawlessly beautiful. But, no…it was her mind. Her spirit. I never could have settled for just one of those things, and not all. So, it was better not to reach for any of it, if all was not possible,” Severus said.  
“Body, mind, and spirit, or nothing at all,” Regulus said.  
“Yes,” Severus said.  
“But, Ghoul, after Ada died, before you returned to me, you did marry, didn’t you? I thought I heard something about a wife, a daughter? Some common Squib girl from the Vale, wasn’t it?” Regulus said.  
Severus hesitated. “There was a girl, in the Vale. She was not my wife. She is dead now,” he said calmly.  
“And, the girl?” Regulus said.  
“It is your daughter we should concern ourselves with, I should think. You persist in this desire to kidnap Pandora and take her to the Realm of Alchemists before Voldemort can find intelligence on Perrier Flamel, and torture information regarding the procedure we performed on her,” Severus said. “Your concern being that the Dark Lord, though returned to power, is ailing, and would dearly love an elixir as potent as Silphium for his restoration.”  
“Precisely. I allowed you a fit of temper, Ghoul, but you see now how imperative it is that you obey me. You made my wife a promise, as she lay dying. She asked you to save Pandora’s life. And, you did-you performed the silphium solution treatment, and gave her a chance to live. You have seen for yourself the fruit of your efforts. She is a strong, healthy, brilliant, beautiful girl. That is your work. She is not just Ada’s daughter, and mine-she is the child of your alchemy. I believe you, that the desire you felt was a confused memory of Ada, and you have no lascivious intentions, truly, towards Pandora. Then let her reside in the place in your heart where I am sure the memory of your own daughter does,” Regulus said.  
“Rose,” Severus said. “Her name was Rose.”  
“Rose,” Regulus said softly. “Do for my Pandora all that you would do for your Rose.”  
“When you apply yourself, you are good. Are you so cajoling and seductive to your victims as you lure them into your arms, as you drink the life from their blood just as the Dark Lord would do to Pandora, if he knew what she was? Do you tenderly caress them into death? Do you lovingly speak them into their last breaths?” Severus said.  
“Find out. Drink from me. My bite, when you found me alone in my laboratory, experimenting with vampire’s blood to wake Ada with an elixir of it, turned you into what you are. You refused my blood. Take it now, and let me make you strong. You will not suffer this half life, any longer. We will climb the stars, together. We will both be matched in strength to protect our Pandora,” Regulus said.  
“I will not be a Vampire!” Severus said sharply. “I was born a Wizard, I am a Wizard and shall live and die as one. You will not turn me into something I was not destined to be. My father wanted to make a Muggle out of me. Wanted me to be a miner, like him, hacking away at the walls of the earth like a Dwarf, in the dark, breathing in coal dust until I died coughing and spluttering whiskey, as he did. His idea of a health tonic. My mother fought for me to be schooled at Hogwarts…mind, she didn’t come out of those clashes unscathed. But, I went to school, as she wished. I shall not become a Vampire. At least a Ghoul….”  
“Can still do magic,” Regulus said sympathetically.  
Magic, he saw, was what separated Severus, in his mind, from his father. He couldn’t bear a life without it, and a Wizard who was turned into a vampire lost the ability to use magic.  
There was a silence between them, and then Regulus said,  
“My mother was a frightening woman. I would have done anything she told me, for her displeasure not to land on me. When she was cross, she…broke things. Set them on fire. Called me, my brother, and my father the worst names. She could arrange elaborate vengeance upon those who offended her, or scapegoat innocent parties when she was vexed. My brother…he protected me. When she was angry, he led her away from me like a toreador fighting a bull. He played Muggle rock and roll songs on the piano and sang as loud as he could, or he used vulgar language, or talked about his Gryffindor school friends so that she would focus on him…and she did things to him, you know. Such spells as I have never found the name for. One in particular, that convinces the victim that their bones are broken…not the Cruciatus. I still haven’t found the name for that pet hex of my mother’s. But, my brother became quite used to it, he would laugh and say that it tickled. He…fought for me, the way your mother fought for you,” Regulus said.  
“I never imagined that Purebloods like you lot behaved that way,” Severus said.  
Regulus laughed humorlessly. “Money and an august name never yet inured anyone from suffering, or elevated their nature above cruelty,” he said. “Can I depend on you, Severus? You will be in Hogsmeade, this weekend, and extract Pandora at the appropriate time?”  
The Ghoul nodded.

Remus was in the garden, planting herbs. The ground was cold in Hogsmeade, resting as it did at the foot of the mountains, so planted seeds did not always take root and sprout in such cold soil. It was a safer bet to buy transplants, unpot them, and plant them, as Remus was doing now with fresh smelling lavender. He heard the windy sound of an Egress opening, and looked up. His husband, Sirius, shook out his hair and stepped out of the Egress.  
“Merlin’s bollocks, its good to be home!” Sirius declared.  
Remus smiled bemusedly at how dramatic he could be. He was always an outsized personality, impulsive and testy, a tad flamboyant…but those who knew him well knew that beneath the pose of a rebel lay the heart of a knight from an old tale, loyal and perseverant, noble and brave.  
“Hard day on the Legislation Hall floor?” Remus said.  
“Its that bloody Aurors powers act, about giving them the right to use certain truth serums and incantations. The bloody Slytherins, they just don’t want us finding out the truth-that they never gave up on Riddle, they’re harboring him in their drawing rooms and hunting lodges, helping him evade justice and get back to power,” Sirius said.  
“Well, someone’s just named names to the Prophet. Any names you already suspected?” Remus said.  
“Oh, all of them, Moonbeam, all of them,” Sirius said dismissively. “But, how was your day, anyway?”  
“Moonbeam?” Remus said.  
“All right, Moonflower, then. Moonpie?” Sirius said.  
“Moony will do. Classic,” Remus said.  
Sirius smiled. When he smiled, he shed the premature wrinkles that Drakenberg, being tortured until he lost his memory, and then wandering the streets as a vagrant had left. When Remus found him, and said the word, “Remember,” undoing the curse, his identity came rushing back.  
He held out his hand to Remus, and helped him out of the grass and potting soil. Remus felt pliant and ready to be loved as Sirius pulled him close, and caressed his waist, lower back, and bottom through his old, faded chinoes.  
“I miss you. I can’t wait to have this weekend with you and the children, as a family,” Sirius murmured into Remus’s ear. “How are your wolves?”  
“The pack is getting settled in at those cottages outside the village that you found. They run conveniently into the greenwood of Orchard Grange,” Remus said.  
“Best place for them to run. We had some high times out there, at Jamie’s place, during the summer, after him and I worked that Animagus thing out. Its not so hard as all the books make it seem!” Sirius said.  
“Not so hard, he says…about a procedure some Wizards spend their whole lives working out,” Remus said.  
“Honestly, learning how to play ‘Stairway to Heaven’ on six string guitar was much more challenging,” Sirius said.  
Remus laughed, and remembered fondly running with his two best friends, one a deer shapeshifter and the other a ferocious black dog, animals that could nearly match his wolf-self in strength and keep him from breaking free and hurting someone.  
“I think the Bear Hunter pack, as they call themselves, will love the greenwood as much as we did. I am not their ideal packmaster, certainly-they follow the old Saxon traditions-but, their chieftaness, Grimhilda, accepts me, and her word is holding as law, for now. She is something of a shamaness,” Remus said.  
“I have no time for Seers. Look what they did to Jamie, Lily, and Harry,” Sirius said. “Voldemort’s corps of priestesses-all hacks and fanatics.”  
“Yes, but some people do have a gift, my love,” Remus said soothingly.  
“So long as this Grimhilda woman gets the pack to come around. And, don’t forget, Arnulf’s and Ulfric’s wives are mothers first-they’ll trust anyone who looks after their children with an open heart,” Sirius said.  
“Precisely. It’s the children I am most concerned for,” Remus said. “Its hard out there, for young wolves. With Harry’s consultation, of course, I hope the Grange, greenwood, and cottages, can become a refuge for the young ones.”  
“Yes, of course. You know our boy-he’s got a big heart, just like his parents, he’ll be all for it,” Sirius said, continuing to caress Remus. Remus felt like he was melting. He lay his head on Sirius’s shoulder, and whimpered.  
“We have a beautiful weekend ahead of us. Lucy’s and Pandora’s first weekend with us, and we have Harry’s Quidditch game,” Remus said.  
“Yes, my love,” Sirius said, and kissed Remus. Remus responded eagerly, wrapping his arms around Sirius’s neck. His human brain felt elatedly lucky, his wolf mind felt possessive and hungry. It recognized Sirius’s scent of cedarwood and tobacco as the smell of his mate, and his skin screamed to be let out of his clothes, to be as close as possible to Sirius’s warmth.  
When they broke apart to breathe, Remus said, “Oh, yes, and there is also a letter from Draco Malfoy, your young cousin, on the state of things at Malfoy Manor.”  
“Good, good. He reminds me so much of Regulus, sometimes. A little bit more piss and vinegar, though. He’s a sassy thing. Regulus never had that kind of spine. But…beneath it, he has a vulnerability that’s so like Reggie. He insisted on going in to spy…I just hope I did the right thing in letting him,” Sirius said, his gray eyes clouded with doubt.  
Remus caressed his face comfortingly. “We would be doing him a worse harm if we stood in his way of restoring his family’s honor and personal pride. He would be drowning in shame if he wasn’t doing something to undo his father’s damage. He rather reminds me of you at that age, and later, when the war was at its worst. You were so touchy about anyone making assumptions about you because of your family,” Remus said. “You were so determined to bring down Voldemort and the Dark Wizards who followed him, in a different way from the rest of us…”  
“Because I was born to be one of them, Moonpie. Oh, my old Mother had grand plans for me, she did-I just didn’t have the stomach for them,” Sirius said. “I see that in Cissy’s son-he wants none of his father’s genocidal suicide mission. I shall read his report a little later.”  
“Oh? You’re going to help me with the gardening?” Remus asked.  
“No, you look better doing it. That perky little ass in the air as you bend over your dinner herbs….” Sirius said roguishly.  
“Sirius!” Remus said, scandalized, flustered, and pleased. He was blushing beneath his clothes. Sirius turned him into such a schoolboy.  
“Come inside with me, love. Up to bed,” Sirius said.  
“It’s the afternoon,” Remus protested. “Oh, and we got a package, some baubles from the Goblin Market, I think it something Harry wants to give Dora.”  
“Hope that’s all he wants to give her. I’ve known too many sixteen year old Pureblood parents, they’re not going to follow that particular custom,” Sirius said.  
“It’s a different time. They’re madly in love, and soulbound by the red chord…as me and Regulus were,” Remus said.  
Sirius looked at him with loving empathy. “Reggie loved you, Moony-he just wasn’t brave enough to stand up to Mum,” he said.  
“I hope he’s found peace, now,” Remus murmured.  
Sirius held him close, and Remus allowed himself to be led back into the house, away from the garden, upstairs to their bedroom. Sirius looked into Remus’s whiskey brown eyes with intense love and unabashed desire as he helped him off with his dusty, faded sweater, and caressed his torso, which was marked with pink scars from his transformations. Sirius kissed the scars, moaning as if he was tasting something delicious. He paused at Remus’s nipples, sucking and kissing one and then the other.  
“Sirie….you’re killing me,” Remus groaned. The desire was rampaging through his nipples, his face, his spine, and the most secret flesh of him where he desired to be stroked, touched, penetrated, and filled by his lover, his husband, his mate. His body was on fire, his head was swimming.  
Before Remus could stop it, tears appeared in his eyes, burning hot and obscuring his vision.  
Sirius’s fingers, which smelled of leather motorcycle gloves, gently wiped them away.  
“My Remus…what’s wrong, my love? We’re here, together. We love each other,” he whispered into Remus’s ear, and trailed kisses down his neck. He nipped at his shoulder, a loving bite, and said, “and, we want each other.” His voice became huskier, and he rubbed against Remus shamelessly, conducting Remus’s desire to spike. Remus’s head swam abruptly, and he gripped Sirius’s shoulders to stay grounded.  
“That’s it-I never thought I could be so happy, that I could have this. Children, a mate, a pack, a home…Oh, Sirius….I’m so happy, I’m scared…we’d lose it all, if anyone in the village were to expose me…that I’m a werewolf…its one thing for people to know, but if they tell…we’d lose everything…” Remus gasped.  
Sirius kissed him, and undulated against him, coaxing Remus’s hips to move in tandem with his. He was undoing them both, just barely holding onto control of the pace. He threw his head back as he exhaled, then took another greedy gulp of breath. Remus kissed his neck.  
“We’ll change it, Moony. There’s plenty of legislation about improving wolves’ rights, I’ll push it, speak to activists’ groups, and…” Sirius was cut off by a kiss.  
“Just hold me. Just love me. Sirius…make love to me,” Remus moaned. “You don’t have to fix it…just love me…”  
They tenderly helped each other out of their clothes, and lay under the soft, fresh, cotton, rosewater laundered sheets, and surrendered their thoughts only to love for the hour. They lay in the damp, warm nest of their bed, breathing in the fragrance of the mingled notes of their sweat, catching their breath, holding each other.  
Remus lay on Sirius’s chest. The rune tattooed there palpitated as Sirius’s chest rose and fell with his heartbeat.  
“I’ve been thinking about something,” Sirius said.  
“That always leads us down a dangerous path,” Remus said.  
Sirius laughed. “I should spend more time in Londinium,” he said.  
“If you spend any more time there, I’ll consider myself abandoned,” Remus said.  
Sirius’s gray eyes looked stricken with concern, and Remus quickly said, “No, I’m just kidding, dear. But, your Guild seat does take up a lot of time. Harry needs us both. Not just because of the threat to him, from Riddle, but….you know. Quidditch games, and dinner on Sunday, movies on Saturday.”  
“Parent stuff,” Sirius confirmed. “I want to be there for all that. But, well…things get heated on the Guild floor. This is an age of unequivocal statements and stances, and you can’t be afraid to take some heat, for it. But, I don’t want you and Harry, and the girls, too, now, to get in the line of fire. So, I’ll be staying in Londinium, some nights, if I feel I need to. I’m opening Grimmauld Place.”  
“You want to use the townhouse?” Remus said in surprise.  
“Well, it’s just sitting there, growing derelict since my dad passed, isn’t it? I might as well make use of it,” Sirius said, as if it was a small matter.  
Remus knew it wasn’t. This was the home he’d run away from at just sixteen to escape. It had been something of a salon for the Dark Wizard elite-once, Walburga, Sirius’s mother, had hosted Tom Riddle himself for dinner, when he was just a young upstart igniting the Pureblood elite with nationalistic talk of making Wizardom great again, reclaiming their glory with open war.  
“Its just a bloody house. Somewhere for me to lie low, if ever I need to,” Sirius said.  
“Some places, my love, should be left to such ghosts as choose to inhabit them, to paraphrase Emily Bronte,” Remus said.  
“Is that right?” Sirius said bemusedly, and kissed Remus to reassure him that all would be well.  



	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort makes a move; Professor Fortune comes to Harry's aid; Remus and Harry talk about Lily

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry is attacked by Succubi, which are like malevolent Veela, so some non con there- but his loved ones give him support and healing, and assure him that he'll be okay.

Harry told Ron and Hermione all they wanted to know about the Goblin Market incident, as Hermione walked him and Ron to Quidditch practice.  
“I think Parvati has the right of it-this is a mutiny,” Hermione said. “Fortune said he was Muggleborn, as I’m sure Crabbe and Goyle are already aware, and anyone else whose parents were at Hogwarts when he was. Those Slytherins do keep tabs on who’s who.”  
“A Muggleborn, head of Slytherin…” Ron mused. “No offense, ‘Mione.”  
“None taken, I understand-it appears unlikely. The truth is, the most illustrious Wizard Slytherin has ever produced is a Muggleborn,” Hermione said.  
“Who?” Harry asked, his curiosity piqued.  
“Merlin!” Hermione said. “Everyone forgets that part of his story. King Vortigern had his envoys search the land for a‘child of no man’, and they found Merlin: the son of a Muggle nun, and a spirit who came to her in the night.”  
“An Incubus?” Harry asked.  
“Some sort of demon. No one ever knew,” Hermione said.  
“Merlin was a Slytherin?” Harry asked. “So, Hogwarts has been around since before the days of King Arthur?”  
Ron laughed. “Only Muggles say Arthur. Arcturus Aurelianus,” he corrected.  
“Right,” Harry said. He was still learning, even after all this time.  
Quidditch was one aspect of Wizard life where he didn’t feel like a novice or an oddball. Hermione departed with a wave as he and Ron hit the tartly fragrant green grass of the pitch, joined by the rest of the team. Ginny played Chaser, and was being filled in by a reserve named Gianna Strike, a fourth year with sienna brown skin, bright, dark eyes, and an abundance of bouncy, dark, curly hair. She was a sweetheart, but had a real killer instinct when it came to scoring. Harry had complete confidence in his team, especially the Chasers, Alicia, Katie, and Gianna. He ran them through his notes and plays, and then they took to the air to try some formations and maneuvers.  
He’d vaguely imagined Dora watching Gryffindor’s Quidditch practice from the empty bleachers, watching him captain his team…but then he realized that he’d never asked her to come and watch! And, he had to admit, she showed only a polite interest in Quidditch. That turned out to be all right. They had never been at a loss for things to talk about, despite the fact that he liked sports and she liked botany and alchemy.  
When practice was over, Harry felt the familiar ache in his inner thighs from hugging the broom to stay on, and his back from leaning over the broomstick. He relished how that feeling was massaged out of his body by hot water and steam in the showers. His team seemed enthusiastic and in good spirits, and Harry felt confident about their match in just a few hours as he stripped off his sweat-soaked, grass stained clothes, put them in his locker, and opened the glass door of a shower stall.  
The stall filled with steam as the hot water generously frothed from the shower head and poured over his lithe frame. Harry didn’t like his shoulder blades, he felt like they were too keen, and jutted unappealingly from his thin back. He felt like he was altogether too thin…  
He wondered what Dora truly thought about his body. Compared to her dark honey skin and luscious flesh, he felt pale and birdlike, scrawny-Quidditch wasn’t, after all, the kind of sport that required weight training. It was to his advantage in the air, to be so thin. What did Dora see, when they took each other’s clothes off?  
Harry shrugged aside his complaints about his body, which always made him feel stitches of anxiety in his stomach, and thought instead of Dora…of her touch, her kiss, the noises she made when he touched her. He grasped his needing body, and tried to replicate her stroke, the tender motion of her hand. As he did so, he ran his other hand along the wet plain of his steam misted torso, trying to induce the shivers Dora gave him when she caressed him.  
Harry looked down, and saw Dora’s soft, dark honey brown hands sailing along his stomach. His approximation of her touch had been only a pale facsimile. Harry dropped his ineffectual hands, let his arm rest against the tiles of the stall. Pandora knelt before him. Steam framed her body like an aura, and she must have charmed her body, because the hot water fell but her abundant curls but she did not grow wet. Her gray eyes were dark with desire, her full, rosy lips poised in a knowing smirk. She knew her power, knew how her touch made him feel both weak and alive. She kissed his belly, and caressed his thighs, no longer sore but tender from abandoning their soreness to the caress of the hot water and steam. Harry sighed roughly, his breath shuddering beneath Dora’s touch.  
“Harry…please…” she begged, and to hear her beg made him feel stricken and urgent to give her what she needed.  
“Yes,” he said, to whatever it was, and felt Dora’s lips tentatively kiss the tenderest of places, a place new to touch, to this brief, suckling kiss, to the curious dart of her tongue and the moist promise of her mouth…  
Harry breathed in the grounding way that Fortune had taught them, to still the feeling building in his stomach. When he opened his eyes, he saw not Dora’s dark hair, but long silver hair that looked like a veil of silver threads. The hands that caressed him were long-fingered and pale, and it was not Dora’s voice, but a melodic, beautiful, hypnotic voice that all but sang,  
“Let me drink of you.”  
Harry blinked, and saw that the shower stall was crowded with silver haired, pale, slender women looking on as their sister caressed him. Were they Veela? Alkonosts? He was naked, alone, wandless, and knew that now was a time for fighting, but he was held beneath the woman’s hands by the heat of her touch and the enchantment of her voice.  
‘Breathe,’ he told himself, and found the strength to say,  
“Get off me!!!” as loudly and firmly as he could.  
“Harry,” said the long-haired woman, standing up to her full height, the length of her body pressed against him, her voice a song calling to his very blood. He felt oppressive desire, it made him dizzy and weak. The hands of her sisters caressed him, and frissons wracked him. Kisses and touches left abrupt, intense pleasure in their wake as Harry fought with himself. Their hair was so soft, the water so warm….  
Then, the glass was shattered by a ball of pure magic, pulsing like a star, fire and light. Harry felt as if he had been roughly shaken awake. He was just present enough to dodge the fire, but it didn’t seem to have been meant for him…it found its proper targets, the silver haired women, whose arms flailed as the fire consumed them, expanding them and pulling them into it like an exploding star devouring everything in its gravity.  
Through the shifting mist, Harry saw Robert Fortune. Harry blinked, and for the first time realized that he was cold. The water had gone cold, and he was freezing. Fortune waded through the water on the shower stall floor in his dress shoes to get to Harry with a towel.  
“Professor….what were….who were…those things, those women….what happened to me?” Harry spluttered. He felt so cold, and he was shaking.  
“Its all right now, Harry. You’re all right,” Fortune said kindly, sheltering him with the towel. This moment felt like the distillation of every vulnerable moment in his life, every hissing innuendo of gossip, every moment of being shunned and feeling a crowd part to avoid him, every time he had been alone in peril from a beast or dark wizard, feeling small and certain to die no matter how hard or long he fought….and Fortune’s hands cut through every moment and sheltered him.  
“Get your clothes on, all right? Its over now, Harry,” Fortune said. “I’ll be just outside the locker room, waiting for you.”  
Harry put his day clothes back on. He was still catching his breath. When he closed his eyes, the darkness behind blinking swarmed with images of those silver haired pale women, and the way their eyes and voices made him feel. He took grounding breaths as he put on his shoes, and grabbed his book satchel. He felt safe again when his hand closed over his wand.  
He met Fortune at the door of the locker room, and together they walked across the grass of the pitch, back towards the castle.  
“Mind if I smoke?” Fortune asked.  
“No, go ahead,” Harry said.  
Fortune dug his hands into the pockets of his stylishly cut khaki trench coat, pulled out a silver lighter and a pack of cigarettes. He placed one of the cigarettes between his lips and lit up, and after a pleasurable looking inhale he withdrew the cigarette and blew the pellucid smoke into the air. Harry watched the smoke dance towards the sky, which was cradled by the empty seats of the pitch. The sky had turned pink, the sun was setting. Harry was still shaking, Fortune looked calm and in control of the situation.  
“Professor…were those women…spirits? Incubi or Succubi, like you taught us about?” Harry said.  
Fortune nodded gravely.  
“And I think I know who sent them, but let’s discuss this at my house, all right? I’ve got a portal open to my place in Hagrid’s cottage,” Fortune said. They headed to Hagrid’s cottage. Fortune knocked on Hagrid’s door, and he opened cheerfully.  
“Harry! And Robbie? All right, both o’ you?” he asked, and then looked at Harry; his expression changed to concern.  
“Wha’s happened, Robbie? Is Harry all right?” Hagrid asked.  
“He soon will be, Hagrid. Wish I had time for a cuppa, but Harry needs his vital energies stabilized,” Rob said apologetically.  
“’Course! Don’t you worry, Harry. You’re in good hands-studied all over the world, Robbie has! He’s quite the wizard. You two go on through,” Hagrid said, and waved Harry and Robbie through the fireplace.  
Harry and Rob walked through and emerged on the other side. Natalie was there, waiting with an anxious look, and standing beside her was a tall, slender, but buxom young woman with long black hair and gray-violet eyes, wearing a crop-top and Thai yoga pants with a bright paisley pattern.  
“Nattie, Wina,” He said urgently, “Harry was attacked by Succubi at Hogwarts. We need a healing space.”  
“White candles,” Nattie told Wina.  
“Selenite, tourmaline, and kyanite,” Wina added, and the witches started pulling the objects they needed from chests and hidden compartments around the millhouse.  
“Are you Rob’s apprentice, too?” Harry asked Wina.  
She laughed bemusedly, and said in a breezy American accent, “Nope! I’m his ex-wife. Belwina Whitethorn-pleased to meet ya!”  
“Harry Potter,” Harry introduced himself. His head hurt, and his voice and Wina’s sounded vaguely distorted, like he had water in his ear.  
“Energy witch and art forger extraordinaire, and currently a cabaret star par excellence,” Robbie elaborated, gesturing at Belwina as if presenting her to an audience.  
“Oh, you know. I’ve got a little magic act on the Richmond bar scene. It’s a little Siegfried and Roy, a little Dita Von Teese,” She said. “Honey, let’s sit you down, all right?”  
She guided him to the kitchen, and helped him sit down at the kitchen table, while Natalie and John arranged a circle of candles and crystals.  
“How come you and Rob live together, if you’re divorced?” Harry asked.  
“Well, honey, life is complicated. It’s not like in school, where if you break up you never speak again and there’s a bunch of hurt feelings. We still care about each other…..but I made a huge mistake…and I lost our son. Our Little Robbie. I was on the run,” Belwina said.  
“From Voldemort?” Harry asked.  
Belwina shook her head. “From my bitch sister. She was trying to complete a sacrifice, using my baby….so I hid him. Trouble is, I erased my memory of where I hid him, so if Hecabe-my bitch sister-ever caught up with me and tortured me, I couldn’t spill the truth.”  
“That’s horrible. But…you did what you had to, to keep him safe,” Harry said.  
Belwina smiled gratefully. “You are a sweetheart! Thanks, honey. Gosh, you don’t deserve all this…”  
“Well, I don’t know what I deserve, but….thanks,” Harry said.  
“Let’s get you some banana bread and milk, before we begin, okay?” she said.  
Despite the fact that she was wearing a skimpy top and baring her midriff, there was something comforting and maternal about her-she was a mother, after all, and Harry could tell from her gentle demeanor.  
“How old is your son?” Harry asked.  
“Around your age, honey. I was living in London, running art cons on aristocrats, when I met Robbie…and he was knee deep in the Order of the Phoenix, up to his neck in the war against Voldemort, and draggled little amoral, neutral me into it all. I always thought I lived for myself, and didn’t get involved in causes or fall in love….Well, anyhoo, let me tell you something about wars: people make a lot of babies! You just, like, grab each other for warmth and hope, you feel things hard and fast and….maybe there’s some kind of instinctive biological imperative, there, because when people feel like that, there’s gonna be babies! You’ll see,” she said, and gave a very American saucy wink.  
“Well, I hope there is no war this time around, actually,” Harry said.  
“Good point,” Wina said, and gave him a glass of milk and a slice of banana bread.  
“And there’s cornbread, for after the energy healing,” she said.  
“Americans make bread out of everything!” Harry marveled with his mouth full.  
Wina gave him a stern look, and he closed and wiped his mouth.  
“Oy, Wina, you can bring him back now, love!” Robbie said.  
Belwina helped Harry stand, and they walked back to the parlor. Robbie and Wina helped him lay on an arrangement of pillows in the center of the circle of candles and crystals. Natalie knelt before him, sitting on her knees. She had changed her hair, and it now fell past her shoulders in long, coiling braids. She usually seemed cheerful and kind, but a little shy. Now, her brown skin had a radiant sheen, glowing with magical force, and her voice had effortless authority as she chanted, but Harry did not know in what language. They mostly used Latin at Hogwarts, but this language had the ring of wild forests, windswept deserts, and towering mountains.  
“Succubi and Incubi steal energy. We’re restoring what they took,” Rob explained.  
Rob, Wina, and Natalie chanted, and at first Harry’s body resisted rest. He felt like something bad would happen if he relaxed, then, the magic began to work and he felt safe and restful once again. He fell into a soothed state which wasn’t quite sleep or awake.  
When he did wake up, he wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but Rob, Wina, and Natalie had ceased chanting, and were looking nurturingly down at him.  
“Great job, Harry. How do you feel?” Natalie said.  
“Better,” he said.  
“Sit up, love,” Wina said, and placed one hand on her stomach, the other on the middle of his back.  
“We’re getting the last of the trauma out of your energy body. How did you feel when you were being attacked?” Wina said.  
“Helpless. The way I did when me and Ron rescued Ginny from the basilisk in second year…and during the Tournament….there’s this moment when you realize no one’s going to come and help you, and you’re about to fly apart, you’re screaming on the inside, and then you have to make up your mind to do something yourself. But, I couldn’t get to that place, this time, the place where you just go into action the best you can, as long as you can. Their magic wouldn’t let me,” Harry said.  
“It’s okay. You did better than many a wizard twice your age would’ve. Succubi are hard to resist. The demons that tempt us with the things we want and need always are,” Rob said.  
“That’s good, Wina,” Natalie said, and Belwina stopped. “Take a deep breath, Harry,” Natalie instructed him.  
Harry breathed.  
“While the girls healed you, I sent word to Remus and Sirius about what happened, they’ll be here shortly,” Robbie said.  
As if on cue, Remus and Sirius emerged from the fireplace.  
“We’re putting you in a plastic bubble, from now on,” Sirius said.  
“I do recall John Travolta escaping from the bubble at the end of the film,” Remus said.  
“Homeschooling, then,” Sirius said.  
“What? No! I can’t leave Hogwarts!” Harry said.  
He really loved his school. Were there bullies, were the classes hard, did something life-threatening seem to happen every year? Sure, but his best friends were there, and Hogwarts was exciting and full of mysteries.  
“Harry, we’re only joking,” Remus said.  
Sirius hugged him, and said, “Hey, I’m sorry. We’d never withdraw you from Hogwarts, I promise. Tell us what happened.”  
“I was in the shower, after Quidditch practice,” Harry said. “I was thinking about….things. Things that were on my mind at the time…homework…”  
“Pandora,” Sirius suggested.  
“Yeah,” Harry said. “And…uh…”  
“We can guess, Harry, and it’s a natural, healthy thing to do,” Remus said.  
“But, not in excess-you’ll go blind,” Sirius said.  
Remus rolled his eyes affectionately, smiling fondly at Sirius.  
“Harry, we all had those feelings for someone, at your age,” Remus said. “And we know how you feel about Dora. So, you were masturbating. Perfectly normal. So, what happened?”  
“You’re killing him, Reemie. It’s his hippie upbringing, showing through,” Sirius said.  
“My Mum is not a hippie-she’s a globetrotting bohemian,” Remus corrected.  
It was true, Harry thought-Hope Lupin was always sending them souvenirs from wherever she was traveling.  
“Well, the last thing we want is for you to be ashamed of your body or your feelings, Harry,” Sirius said.  
“Thanks, but can neither of you ever say ‘masturbation’ again? Okay, thanks again,” Harry said. “So, I was by myself, at first...”  
“Yeah, that’s how it works. The ‘M’ word we’re forbidden from speaking,” Sirius said.  
Robbie laughed, and Harry wanted to fall through the floor boards-although that probably led to Robbie’s beach cabin.  
“And then, I opened my eyes, and Dora was there. Then, it wasn’t Dora,” Harry said, and described the Succubi.  
When he was done describing the woman-like creatures with their silver hair like spun moonlight, and voices that made him weak, he asked, “Who sent them? Was it Voldemort?”  
“He’s always allied himself with Dark Creatures, despite his rhetoric against them,” Remus said. “they have powers and tendencies that strike fear in other Wizards, and that can accomplish not only terror but unique tasks. When he was in power formerly, he had a group of female followers called the Volva, shamanesses who specialized in prophecy and summoning air spirits like the Succubi.”  
“But, why use Succubi on me?” Harry asked.  
“Dumbledore said that Voldemort wanted your blood,” Sirius said. “Semen has….similar properties. It would probably serve the same purposes. Did you…finish? I’m not being cheeky, this matters, magically.”  
Harry shook his head. “No. When I did the grounding breath Rob showed us, I stopped seeing Dora. I saw the Succubus, and the others with her,” he said.  
“Good,” Remus said.  
“Why would he want my blood?” Harry asked. “Outside of wanting to kill me, I mean.”  
“For a ritual. Or a sacrifice. There’s something about you that he wants,” Wina said. “Blood magic is vile, one of the darkest arts…but the wizards, witches, warlocks, and magicians who perform it do so to extract a quality from their victim’s very blood and use it for to give power to their ritual or spell. Maybe it is innocence, youth, health, or something in your lineage.”  
The wizards were silent, contemplating this dark prospect.  
“The Volva must have made the prophecy, that a kid born on the first day of the sign of the phoenix would replace him,” Harry said. “Could he have the Volva back?”  
“Its possible. None of the women in that circle were ever apprehended,” Sirius said. “Someone summoned those demons. I hate to say it, but Wizarding culture can be rather sexist. Certain arts are associated more with one gender than the other, and prophecy and summoning demons are considered witches’ arts. He must have something like the Volva, now, and it’s not surprising-the Death Eaters have a lot of esoteric belief about women and energy, which is why they treat them as possessions and vessels.”  
“So, there’s the prophecy that he has to kill me, but then he also wants to perform this ritual,” Harry said.  
“In my experience, these despotic cult leaders are more capricious than they’d ever let their followers believe,” Natalie said. “They’re constantly chasing omens, trying to confirm their ambitions and predict threats to them, so they veer in all these unconnected directions at the same time. To them, it all makes sense because it all involves protecting the one thing they care about: themselves. These guys are megalomaniacs and narcissists, Harry. In America, we’ve had a lot of Voldemorts, unfortunately.”  
“How do you deal with them?” Harry asked.  
“America swallows things, Harry,” Wina said. “Businesses, politicians, celebrities, trends, values. They have their season and their cycle, but then they fade and sag until they’re demolished, cleared away, and built over. So much is forgotten, that way, but maybe its all for the best.”  
“Its different in Britain. History holds fast, there,” Robbie said.  
Wina nodded.  
“Why don’t you and Sirius get some air, Harry?” Remus said.  
Sirius helped Harry stand, and they stepped out into the fragrant pines. The river rushed, frothing around boulders, persimmons fell from a tree a few feet from the house, and squirrels scampered for them. It was summer in the Time Pocket-had Rob Fortune gone back in time a few months to teach at Hogwarts?  
“You’re quite taken with Rob,” Sirius said.  
“I don’t have some lame crush on my professor. What a cliché!” Harry said.  
Sirius laughed. “I didn’t mean it like that…although I am no stranger to his charms,” he said.  
“Wait, hang on-you and Rob dated in school?” Harry asked.  
“Well, that would be overstating things, but…yeah. We had our good times. ‘Course, it drove Snivelly up the wall, thought Rob could do a damn sight better than me,” Sirius said.  
“Professor Snape?” Harry said.  
“Yeah. He and Rob were big friends, until Snivellus ran off to sit on Voldemort’s lap. Robbie never had time for any of that. He might like his voodoo rituals, Robbie, but he’s no dark wizard. He’s a shaman, if he’s anything, and he was furious that one of his friends had joined that poxy cause,” Sirius said.  
“Dumbledore’s made him head of Slytherin Coven’s school house,” Harry said.  
“I could see Robbie as Headmaster after Dumbledore, if he wanted it. He knows all sorts of tricky, slippery things, after all,” Sirius said. “Harry, tell me how you’re feeling.”  
“I feel better, after the energy healing. But, I feel….like he steals from me, every day. Time, or peace, or something made up of the two. Something I should have that I can’t, because he’s out there,” Harry said. “Sirius, the red chord between me and Dora-could Voldemort get to her, using that?”  
“That’s an old, mysterious magical occurrence, that we don’t know all the physics of,” Sirius said. “Look, Harry, I love you and Dora both equally. You’re my godson, she’s my niece. I want you both safe and happy. I’m not afraid of what could happen because you love her-I’m glad you love her!”  
“But, I can make myself stop if I have to. I can step aside, I can just…be her brother,” Harry said.  
“You’re trying to convince yourself but could you, really? I tried to just be Remus’s brother, and I couldn’t do it,” Sirius said.  
To treat Dora as chastely as he did Hermione and Ginny, to never place his lips to her honey skin, or kiss her lips….he could do it, if it meant she was never threatened or injured.  
Sirius put his arm around Harry’s shoulder.  
“You’re going to be okay, Harry,” Sirius said. He kissed the top of Harry’s head. “Do you still feel like Quidditch, tomorrow?”  
“Of course!” Harry said.  
Sirius smiled. “Just like your dad. Nothing that can’t be solved by Quidditch, pizza, and a date. I used to wish I had James’s optimism about things. I was rather a shuddering mess of anxiety covering it up with a Himalayan sized chip on my shoulder.”  
Harry laughed, and said, “I think I’m somewhere in between.”  
“I don’t want you to be as afraid as I was, when I was young. I don’t want you to be afraid at all,” Sirius said. “And I don’t want you to be afraid to love. I know what its like to be hurt by touch. But, touch doesn’t have to hurt. Touch can be love, and don’t close yourself off from that because of the Succubi.”  
“I know the difference. It’s the difference between the orphanage, and home,” Harry said.  
Sirius hugged him.  
“All right. Let’s get you back up to school. Robbie can fix the time, so that you won’t have missed any time,” Sirius said.  
“Who is he, bloody Doctor Who?” Harry said.  
“That’s a Slytherin for you, bending time itself to their will. Let’s just say, Robbie took a lot of elective courses at Hogwarts, and did a lot of apprenticeships after,” Sirius said.  
Harry and Sirius headed back inside the millhouse. When informed that Harry, Remus, and Sirius were leaving, Natalie gave Harry a Seal of Solomon talisman to keep in his pocket, and a kiss on his cheek. Wina rushed to the kitchen and gave him a mini-pan of cornbread. Harry thanked them for everything.  
“Oy, Harry, we gotta step it up with your shielding lessons. If Voldie really has the Volva back up, those hags specialize in psychic damage,” Robbie said. “I’ll see you after class every Friday, now.”  
“All right. Works for me. I…I want to learn from you,” Harry said.  
“Harry’s dazzled by you,” Sirius said.  
“Well, Robbie’s all dazzle, no substance, in fact,” Remus said. “I should know, I did most of his homework.”  
“For a fair price: a Mars bar and a mixtape, every time,” Robbie said.  
“You were so easily bought, Moonpie?” Sirius said.  
Harry was embarrassed. He was quite impressed with Fortune, the way he didn’t hesitate to handle a tough situation, the obscure magic he knew, the way he looked smoking a cigarette against the sunset. Harry wondered how he, himself, would look smoking against the sunset…then decided Remus would have a very heartfelt talk with him if he took up smoking.  
“I’ll be along, all right? You lot can go through,” Robbie said.  
Remus, Sirius, and Harry walked through the fireplace to Hagrid’s fireplace. He detained them for a cup of tea, and they discussed the Goblin Market mayhem.  
“Dora says that when Faeries leave a place, they lose all hope,” Harry said.  
“Some say so-but we ain’t out of the running yet. Faerie magic lingers a long time! A blessin’, or a gift, or an old kingdom that was cleared out long ago, it never loses its magic,” Hagrid said.  
“That’s true. Some say that’s where Muggleborn witches and wizards’ magic comes from: an ancestor must have been blessed by the Faeries, or partially descended from them,” Sirius said. “Of course, my parents had less flattering terms for it, but some call Muggleborns ‘Fairchildren’: Children of the Faeries.”  
“Look at yer mum, Harry: red hair, like Morgan Le Fay-that’s one of the sure signs,” Hagrid said.  
Harry smiled. “All I know about my mum is that she was from Yorkshire, right?”  
Remus nodded. “A miserable little town called Cokeworth. My Mum moved there because of its location-outside the town are the moors, long stretches of heather, where I could run freely, on the chance that I inherited my father’s lycanthropy, which I did. I didn’t tell your mother, Robbie, and Severus that I was a werewolf, at first, and I do regret that. It caused a division between Severus and I that never mended. But, your mother, Harry…she was so kind, so protective, so nurturing. A sister to us lost boys. She was so bright, and that town was so gray….”  
“I can’t believe she was friends with Snape!” Harry said.  
“We were just kids. They had a special bond. She was his protector, especially,” Remus said.  
“Against what?” Harry asked.  
“He had a difficult home life. And, he was so smart for his age, that coming to school was a disappointment. Instead of other serious scholars, he found, well, a school full of children,” Remus said.  
“Perfect beasts, like me and James!” Sirius said ironically.  
“Your mother and I were sorted into Gryffindor, Robbie and Sev into Slytherin, but we were determined not to let our friendship suffer because of silly house rivalries. It became harder as Voldemort became more powerful,” Remus said. “Your mother abhorred dark magic, and it broke her heart to see Severus fall into it. But, Lily moved on. She and your father had a remarkable love, and a happy life, Harry. She was special…I don’t know if she was truly blessed by the Faer, but she blessed us with her love, her friendship, her humor, and her loyalty.”  
Harry was moved. His mother had felt so close, lately, as if she was just around a corner.  
“I remember her well,” Hagrid said fondly. “I swear, sometimes when I see Ginny Weasley comin’ round a corner, she looks so much like Lily, its startlin’ to see!”  
“I’ve thought the same, actually,” Sirius said. “Harry, Hagrid, me and Moony are going to head up to Orchard Grange, get it sorted. We should move there permanently, take the protection that the house is offering-a place like that appears when you need it. The wolves will be staying in the cottages, and running in the greenwood.”  
“Good. I can tell it’s a safe place,” Harry said.  
“It’s your’s, Harry, was always meant to be, and always will be,” Sirius said. “We’ll see you tomorrow, when you flatten Ravenclaw. They were always an easy victory. What’s their Seeker called, Horse?”  
“Gorse,” Harry said, suppressing laughter.  
“Glad you remembered, no one else will. You’ve got this, Harry!” Sirius said.  
“He flashes back to all the braggadocio of his days on the team as a Beater whenever Harry has a game,” Remus said.  
“I remember them days, too-knocked a Bludger through my window, you little demon!” Hagrid said sternly. Sirius, although a man of 36, flinched. Harry and Remus laughed. When they stepped outside, the sky was the same shade of pink it had been when Rob walked Harry across the lawn. It was as if no time had passed.  
“I should have told you about your mother, before. That we were children together,” Remus said. “I promise to tell you more.”  
“Its okay that you waited,” Harry said. “You waited until I needed her. I needed her, today.”  
It was the closest Harry ever came to saying that he was scared.


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dora speaks her truth; Hermione cracks the code

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pandora's conversation with Cressida takes place while Harry is at Quidditch practice, then he meets up with her and Hermione afterwards. Robbie fixed time so that he didn't lose any time after the Succubi attack. He will tell Ron, Hermione, and Dora about it, but not quite yet....

‘How do you ever really know what is right and what is wrong?’ Pandora thought.  
There was a television enchanted only to receive Wizarding World Network in the Ravenclaw Common Room, and a few eighth year students were gathered around it to take notes on current event for their Political Science class.  
“It can be quite addictive, television,” Cressida said.  
“I’ve read about television stars and shows in the paper, but Uncle Lucius never allowed one at the Manor,” Pandora said.  
“What do you think of it?” Cressida said.  
“The constant din of it is a bit distracting,” Pandora said.  
“Ah, and what deep matters were you pondering?” Cressida teased.  
“I was thinking…how do we decide what is right and what is wrong? Are we not instructed in them by our elders, and the laws of our society? I was taught the same things as Deverell Eastling and Blaise Zabini….that to be Pureblood was a gift from the gods, one that came with a responsibility to be gentile and respectable, to uphold the standards of our world. That Muggles were a threat, Muggleborns were interlopers, and anyone who stepped out of line was a blood traitor. To them, I am wrong, for not behaving as I should. To me, they are…all of them are…bullies! Cruel bullies seeking to dominate others, or destroy them,” Pandora said.  
“I can tell you are confused. I often am, too,” Cressida said.  
She looked at Pandora and indicated for her to follow her to somewhere more private. There was a small anteroom through a doorless arch that served as a mini library in the Ravenclaw quarters. Every wall boasted a book shelf, with volumes of History, Divination, Philosophy, and Lore, and in the center was richly dark blue carpet. Beside the window were two blue velvet armchairs.  
The girls settled into the armchairs, and watched the pink sunset.  
“Oh, look-the Gryffindor team is practicing. Which one is Harry?” Cressida said.  
“Hmm…I don’t see him! He must be on the ground, giving instructions. He is Captain, after all,” Pandora said proudly. Cressida caught her tone, and smirked bemusedly.  
“Very impressive,” Cressida said loftily. The girls laughed.  
“Did I sound….like a schoolgirl dating the Quidditch captain?” Pandora said.  
“A little! But, you’ve earned this. I mean it, Pandy, I get confused, too, about why we are the ones that people say are wrong. Why is it okay to hunt werewolves, to shun Half-bloods and Muggleborns, to start a war to put down other people…but a woman can be shouted down, smeared, or dealt with violently for acting contrary to the expectations or desire of the people around her in the slightest way! And God forbid we do anything to advance our knowledge, or display any intellect. That is considered insolence, and all this is how the world is preferably ordered to the people who raised, housed, clothed, fed, and love us,” Cressida said.  
“Yes! It…hurts me, Cressie! I didn’t realize how wrong it all was until I came to Hogsmeade. I saw girls walking around the village in school uniforms, laughing, talking with boys as friends without risk of rumors that would ruin their reputations…free,” Pandora said.  
“You want to be an alchemist. You know, that there is not one world, but two. The upside down world, and the right side up world. We are on the right side, now, where logic can be applied to. Even when things seem like utter chaos, there is still the chance, here, of setting things right with truth and effort. The Vale will always be upside down,” Cressie said.  
“I fear you are right,” Pandora said. “Hermione Granger wants me to tell the Guardians about the things Eastling and Zabini have said this week. They rather cornered me and Harry on the way to Hogsmeade earlier. Hexes were thrown, until Hermione and Mr. Hagrid stepped in.”  
“Oh, dear! Pandy, you’ve had nothing but trouble this week, haven’t you, dear?” Cressida said.  
“If you’re going to warn me off Harry….” Pandora warned.  
“No, no! I can see how you care for him, and anyway, magic as old and strong and mysterious as a Red Chord can’t be meddled with,” Cressie said. “but, I do feel for you.”  
“Thank you, Cressie,” Pandora said.  
“Are you going to do it? Tell the Guardians? I just don’t know about that, Pandy…Fortune seems a good sort, but he is not popular with his students,” Cressida said.  
“Severus was?” Pandora said.  
“Well…no one liked to be on his bad side. He was very strict, and could be quite cutting. And for Slytherin students, I imagine he kept them under control by swiftly and unvarnishedly informing their parents if their disciplinary or academic performance was wanting or negligent. He has a strong personal dignity that brooked little encouragement to mutiny, and he made good on his threats when it came to disciplinary action,” Cressida said.  
“He wasn’t like that with me,” Pandora said.  
Cressida raised an interested eyebrow, welcoming her to elaborate.  
“We…talked. And, I could ask him any question. One topic led to another, so effortlessly! We could begin talking about a herb or crystal and end up talking about the life of some great sorcerer like Merlin, and how history influences current affairs, and wend our way through every imaginable subject. He helped me to work with minerals and metals, to begin learning Alchemy hands-on. He had such faith in me, as no one but Draco ever had before, when he would help me study his textbooks in secret. Then, he changed, Severus …he became erratic, possessive, moody…almost as if he was struggling with an illness of some sort,” Pandora said.  
“Well, men are like that when they are jealous, aren’t they? When he got you to Hogsmeade, on your uncle’s orders, he was afraid you’d meet a boy your age and be less welcoming to the attentions of a man old enough to be your father,” Cressida snorted. “And, as if turns out, that is just what happened!”  
She sounded satisfied. If only she knew how much more complicated it all was!  
“Anyway,” Cressida continued, “Fortune is not respected by the students, so that gives him little leverage. If they don’t fear and respect him, how can he effectively punish them? Sinistra, our Guardian, can do little if the Guardian of the offending boys does not hold up his end.”  
“He may do more than just hold up his end. Don’t go spreading this around, it will only further discredit him in the Slytherins’ eyes, but….Fortune was quite good friends with Harry’s mother, from the time they were children. He loathes Death Eaters,” Pandora said.  
Cressida gasped. “That’s quite a different matter!” she admitted. “How horrible! Did he love her? You know, unrequitedly?”  
“Oh, I can’t say. But, she was lovely. I’ve seen pictures. Long, red hair, skin like milk, and eyes…such as Harry has, too, just like jewels,” Pandora said.  
“Hmm…sounds like a Fairchild. Muggleborns, some of them, have Faerie blood. Some are the children of Squibs who passed for Muggle, some are descended from a line where the magic’s died out and popped up again, randomly in the bloodline…some have a Creature in their lineage, like a Troll, Dwarf, Satyr, or Nymph. There is no such thing as a Muggle being born with magic by random chance, but rather all our DNA is a product of mixed lineage between Muggles, Creatures, Faeries, and Wizards, especially here in the UK,” Cressida said.  
“That would be heresy, to people like my Uncle,” Pandora said.  
“Oh, it is! That is why they follow the Dark Lord. He tells them what they want to hear-that they are a master race,” Cressida said. “If Harry is half a Fairchild, you could have a child with wings, or flowers for hair, or a rare magical gift!”  
“Children? Let’s slow our pace, a bit-I haven’t even been to one of his Quidditch games, yet,” Pandora said. “Thanks, Cressie, for this talk. I have to meet Hermione and talk to the Guardians, then we’re going to study.”  
In truth, they were going to hole up in the library until it closed at 9pm and work on decoding the Tabula.  
“Oh, you have made up your mind? I think that’s the right way to go. Show them we’re not ‘their girls’-we’re our own people! And, while you’re with Granger, could you ask her about Debate Club?” Cressida said.  
Pandora promised she would, but she didn’t know if the topic would come up. Pandora went up to the portrait hole that led to Gryffindor Tower. Harry had told her the password, ‘Jiggerypokery’, and upon saying it the portrait slid away to reveal a doorway. She opened it, to the Gryffindor common room. It was, of course, done in red and gold. A crimson tapestry embroidered in gold thread of a maiden and a unicorn took up all four walls, and there were a lot of armchairs and firm pillows around the hearty fire in the fireplace. The firelight enhanced the intensity of the red and gold, and the space was colorful and warm.  
“Pandora!” Hermione said, heading down the stairs.  
“Its so empty, in here! The Ravenclaw common room is full of people studying,” Pandora said.  
“Well, in Gryffindor most people take advantage of the free period between classes and dinner to disappear under the pretext of studying but, in fact, are snogging in secluded places around the school,” Hermione said. “Except the first and second years, who aren’t on to snogging yet, but too nervous to come down to the Common room in in case an older student is around. Anyone beyond fourth year looks intimidatingly tall, when you’re twelve.”  
Pandora and Hermione laughed. “So, I thought you would be down at the pitch, watching Harry practice," Hermione said.  
“I….don’t know very much about Quidditch,” Pandora admitted. “Its not the sort of pastime that is encouraged in the Vale, for young ladies.”  
“Oh? What sort of things are?” Hermione said, with genuine interest.  
Pandora felt torn between relief at being asked to talk about familiar territory and embarrassed to admit the confines of her world.  
“Gardening. The study of herbs, botanical sketching…potion crafting. We must know how to craft medicines, for when we are mothers and wives, for our families,” Pandora said. “And, we must be…pleasing in company, so we learn how to behave when you host things, and how to dance, for balls…it all sounds horribly vapid, doesn’t it?”  
“You must have found it so-you began studying in secret, with Draco’s textbooks?” Hermione said.  
“Yes…and then Sev-, rather, Professor Snape noticed that I had a proficiency at Potioncraft, and began to tutor me alone. The other girls weren’t kind…so he thought I might prefer individual instruction,” Pandora said.  
“They weren’t kind? Why?” Hermione asked.  
“I suspect…that it is because of my skin. I think they found it odd…or different. Maybe…not pleasing,” Pandora admitted.  
“Until we accept ourselves, we look for acceptance anywhere we can find it. There’s nothing wrong with being different, Pandora. And no matter what others might think of it, there’s nothing wrong with having brown skin,” Hermione said.  
Pandora looked into Hermione’s eyes, and hugged her. This is what she had needed to be told all her life. She would remind herself when she needed to. When someone else gives you advice, you befriend yourself when you repeat it.  
Hermione and Pandora walked to the staff lounge, where Hermione had asked Professors Sinistra and Fortune to meet her and Pandora.  
“Go on, Dora-tell your story,” Hermione said.  
Dora told them about her first week at Hogwarts, and how Deverell, Vivian, and Blaise had made comments about her, and Harry. She didn’t omit that she had hexed Deverell-she felt it was only fair play to admit what she had done wrong, too.  
“Language like that ain’t gonna fly in Slytherin house, anymore,” Fortune said. “thanks for giving me this information, and these boys’ names. I’ll be talking to them, and sharing the fact that they’re on disciplinary notice with their parents. But, Dora, you will not be mentioned by name, I promise.”  
“Thank you, Professor,” Pandora said.  
Professor Sinistra smelled, as she had the day that Dora met her a week and a half ago, smelled soothingly of lavender. She looked at Dora, meeting her eyes and holding them, and said,  
“Once, I watched your mother address the Presbyters of the Order of the Thrice Great Hermes and tell her truth about a very, very difficult subject, a weighty decision that required all of us to come to a consensus. I didn’t agree with her, but her courage was breathtaking. Pandora, you have your mother’s courage. These boys have no power over you, and you have not allowed them to steal your power. You used your voice, Pandora. We commend you for your truth,” Sinistra said.  
“Thank you, Guardian,” Pandora said. “I did not realize you were a member of the Emerald Order.”  
“Once, dear. But, the world is different now. Alchemy is different. It has less demand for philosophers,” Sinistra said. “Pandora, rest easy. You have always belonged at Hogwarts, and nothing can change that.”  
“Thank you both for hearing us,” Hermione said.  
“Hogwarts is supposed to be a safe place for any kid who’s got magic. I don’t want you feeling intimidated by anyone, ever. You girls go up to your dorms, and rest easy,” Fortune said.  
“Actually,” Hermione said, “We were on our way to the library!”  
“Very good,” Sinistra said.  
“Here’s a pass,” Fortune said, pulled a pass from the pocket of his blazer, wrote them one, and handed it to Hermione.  
Hermione and Pandora took their leave of the professors and headed to the library. It had grown darker, and the stained-glass windows had darkened with the indigo evening behind them. Harry and Ron were waiting for them, with the stack of books Hermione had reserved the day before.  
“So, how did it go?” Harry asked, as Pandora sat down.  
“Sinistra said that I had my mother’s courage,” Pandora said.  
Harry tucked her wild hair behind her ear, and said, “You’ve got plenty of courage. You’re amazing. In fact…how are you not in Gryffindor? Seriously?”  
Hermione and Ron laughed.  
“I wouldn't mind it-the common room looks cozy, at any rate,” Pandora said.  
“It is. Much rather be studying in there, in fact, if we have to be up all night reading all these books,” Ron said.  
“Who said we were going to be reading them? Dora, can I see your Tabula Smaragdina?” Hermione asked.  
She sat it beside the stack of books, waved her wand over first the books, then the Tabula.  
“There! If there are any corresponding symbols between the two books, they will have matched up and translated the code in the book,” Hermione said.  
“Whoa! ‘Mione! How did you learn that?” Ron said.  
“Here and there,” Hermione said. “Just a little life hack!”  
“Life hack? Works for me,” Harry said. “Let’s open it and see.”  
They opened the Tabula, to the pages where Dora’s mother’s notes begin.  
They began,  
“I thank you, my friend, for undertaking this long journey and arduous endeavor, on behalf of my Pandora. Her name was chosen with conscious consideration of its first bearer, who, after all, gave hope to humanity. I have hope that our endeavor will save her life. She will forever be the child of your alchemy, my dear friend. Perrier will meet you at the oasis, and conduct you to Heliopolis. ‘There, and back again.’ Vale.”  
“Vale? Like, the Vale?” Harry asked.  
“No, pronounced Wah-lay: Farewell. So, whoever Mrs. Black is writing to is going on a journey. But, ‘there and back again’ is a reference to The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien…and implies that this person will return after their trip to Heliopolis. Any idea where that is?” Hermione asked Pandora.  
“Oasis…Heliopolis…no, those aren’t terms I know from Alchemy,” Pandora said.  
Hermione flipped the page. Mrs. Black’s note continued, “ 'This is the procedure, as I understand it should be performed. While in the City of Phoenixes, confirm and amend. Do not worry. I eagerly await your return'.”  
The rest of Mrs. Black’s note was less personal in nature, and contained hand drawn diagrams, lists of substances and quantities, including silphium.  
“This seems to confirm what we saw in the Scrying Bowl when we lifted Harry’s vision from the Thinkstone. Dora, your mother was involved in the procedure that infused your blood with silphium…but, it was done to save your life. From what Snape said in the memory, and your mother’s entreaty for whomever she was talking to in the notes to ‘confirm and amend’ what she had written, they didn’t know or weren’t sure at the time that the silphium would be with you all your life. How does it refresh itself? It must have bonded with your bone marrow…it seems your body now produces silphium! Dora, you are a human panacea!” Hermione said.  
“Makes sense. You never got sick as a kid, like Draco,” Ron said.  
Harry put his arm around Pandora’s waist.  
“Are you okay?” Harry said.  
Pandora nodded, and said, “Yes.”  
“The notes rather cut off abruptly…I wouldn’t be surprised if the parts of the procedure the alchemists found the most sensitive was stored somewhere else. Alchemy is a very secretive practice, after all,” Hermione said.  
“So, what’s all this mean for Dora?” Ron asked.  
“Well, we don’t have any proof one way or the other that Voldemort knows about this, but if he did he would want to harvest the silphium, consume it to enhance his power, possibly distill and replicate it somehow, and we’d be dealing with an army of Death Eaters enhanced by silphium potion,” Hermione said. “Or, he himself could attain some kind of invulnerability.”  
“But, I’m just a normal person…how could something in my blood make people stronger?” Dora said.  
“Dora,” Hermione said slowly, weighing her words, “What’s remarkable about you is that you’re alive. I think the silphium is what’s keeping you alive.”  
Then, Dora wondered, was she truly alive? Was she animated only by magic? She was sure that Severus was the person whom her mother had been writing to…Only he could tell her what she was, what she had been turned into when only an infant, and what sort of danger was lying in wait for her.  
“Harry,” she said, knowing he would understand.  
“The Rune,” he said. “Dora, I don’t know if its safe to speak to Snape. Who knows if you can trust him?”  
“Ordinarily I’d say that was Harry’s grudge talking-his Potions grades are abysmal, and Snape loathes the three of us,” Hermione said.  
“I can’t imagine your grade is low, and Ron, you’re studying to be a Healer, you have to be good at Potions!” Pandora said.  
“Oh, no its not grades with me and Hermione-he hates Gryffindors, the whole lot, and Hermione shows up his Slytherin students, every time,” Ron said. “but, if he’s got a sweet spot for Dora, why not work it to our advantage?”  
“Ron! How is that any better than Deverell and Blaise telling her she should go home and prepare for domestic felicity? No one is using Dora’s sexuality as a mark against her, or a bargaining chip, while I am a Gryffindor prefect,” Hermione said loftily.  
“I’m in Ravenclaw,” Pandora pointed out.  
“Dora, I know you’re used to having to tune people out, and get round them to do what you want to do, and to be happy. I’m the same. I had to risk getting in trouble and break the rules, or sneak out of the orphanage. If I got punished, it was just another drop in the bucket of why I hated the Dursleys, the people who ran it. Every day, every time I went without dinner or didn’t get to change my clothes into fresh laundry, was the same as the last time, and it was worth the freedom. But, Dora, I’m not one of those people you have to tune out, like Deverell, Blaise, or your uncle. Snape was-whatever he taught you, whatever past he has with your parents, he also lied to you. But, you’re looking for a way back to him because you think he’s got an answer for you,” Harry said. “I told you how I feel about the rune, and I didn’t say it to stop you from being free and making your own decisions. I want to protect you, Dora.”  
“Its hard to imagine that now, there are people I can trust. I had my cousins…but Anthea is married, and Draco was often away at school. Now, he is on his mission. There is Lucy…but she is younger, and I must protect her. I’ve never had people I can trust with my heart and my dreams, before, I’m just not used to it. But, you’re right, Harry. I must turn my heart away from the past. I won’t use the Rune,” Pandora said.  
“Good! Because I have an idea…how to get your parents’ Hogwarts records. That will tell us more about their careers after Hogwarts. The files are added to as students progress in their careers, I guess if they ever want to come back and be Hogwarts professors,” Hermione said. “So…you’re going to develop an interest in the Aesthetic Dance Squad, Pandora.”  
“Aesthetic Dance? That’s the lames club at Hogwarts! They do dances and wave their arms at Quidditch games, like cheerleaders in long dresses,” Ron snorted.  
“Yes…but, they require a physical examination to join. So, Pandora will need access to her parents’ records. And, around that time, I’m going to be confiscating a cache of Canary Bombs from a naughty Hufflepuff boy named Ptolemy Fanshawe…” Hermione said.  
“And I’ll make off with the files! What a caper! When shall we be able to attempt it?” Pandora asked.  
“Monday,” Hermione said. “You’ll be at Sirius’s for the weekend, remember?”  
“Hermione, you’re brilliant! Once we have a clearer picture, we can tell Sirius everything, and he and Remus will tell Dumbledore. Thanks to you, Dora, we’ll know that much more about what Voldemort needs, where his head’s at, the state of him,” Harry said.  
“And we’ll protect you from it,” Ron vowed strongly, no doubt thinking of how he wanted to protect his own sister, Ginny, better.  
Pandora looked at the faces of her friends. They were her present, and hopefully her future. She now had people she could trust.  
“Can I walk you to Ravenclaw Tower?” Harry asked.  
Dora nodded. Her whole heart and every cell in her body wanted nothing more than to walk beside him


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry prepares for the Ravenclaw match; Ginny returns; Snape reflects on the past and prepares to make a move

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot twist coming your way! Ginny is about to fall for the wrong guy, and she is not who she thinks she is, either....:)

“Pandora…” Harry began. “This doesn’t change who you are. You are who you decide to be, starting this moment. Whatever you decide, that’s it, if you keep going that way.”  
Pandora paused on the winding stairs up to Ravenclaw, and said, “Harry, that means more to me than…anything. I wish I knew more. Would I have died if my parents and Severus had not acted as they had?”  
“It sounds like it. A lot of the time, Sirius and Remus tell me, ‘You might not like this ,but we’re doing it because we love you,’” Harry said. “Your mum and your dad had good intentions…but, maybe they used a substance that had been kept secret from the world for a reason.”  
“I was always fascinated by how alchemy pierced the veil of the unknown world…but, now, I feel frightened of that potential for the first time,” Pandora said.  
Harry took her hand, and looked into her gray eyes. “Whatever had to happen for it to be, I’m glad you’re here. You make me so happy, you have from the first time I saw you through the window of that dressmaker’s. I’d been so sad for months. Worse than sad. So far away from the people I love, and the things that matter to me. It all changed, when I saw you. I remembered who I am,” Harry said.  
Dora’s eyes were redolent with love. Time seemed to slow down as they kissed.  
“Oh, dear. This is going to look like I was trying to find an excuse to disqualify the rival Seeker, mere hours before the match!” Mordecai Gorse said from behind them.  
Pandora and Harry broke apart, but still held hands.  
“We’ve got library passes, Mort,” Harry said.  
“Have you got snogging passes?” Mordecai said.  
Pandora laughed insouciantly. That was his courageous girl. She had been raised in a dark world, no matter how expensively enameled the veneer…and she didn’t fear trifles like trouble, Harry mused.  
“Look, Mort, do wink at this, just once?” Pandora asked.  
Who could say no to that voice, Harry wondered, that sounded like chandelier light on crystal, but held steel. She was like a wand, Harry decided-finely crafted, delicately beautiful in appearance, but full of hidden force.  
He knew it wasn’t really her, but he thought of the Succubi that had taken her form, Pandora inviolable as the water of the shower poured around her, her tempting eyes and mouth, her dark honey skin and graceful, wily hands….  
“Just once…in the interest of having a fair game tomorrow, eh, Harry?” Mordecai said.  
“Thanks, Mate,” Harry said.  
His plans to go invisible, like when he was a child thief for the Dursleys, and spend the night in her arms in Ravenclaw were kiboshed, now. He needed the real Dora’s warmth after the bestial touch of the Succubi. He savored the feeling of her hand in his.  
Pandora looked disappointed, too…and sad. Their connection showed him a montage of memories: the portrait of her mother in the corridor of the Ravenclaw quarters, herself at a table in an old fashioned kitchen, probably the one at Malfoy Manor, looking over a beaker with a protective mask on, carefully adding a powdered substance while Snape noddingly oversaw her progress, looming over her in his black robes like a giant bat, his features more encouraging and patient than Harry had ever seen them, and Dora by herself in a library, reciting a litany of Latin Charms from a book with stiff, yellowed pages. She was fighting so many emotions and memories. He tried to send her love and comfort.  
Harry slept shallowly in his fourposter bed with heavy maroon velvet curtains. That meant he was half awake to hear the sounds of night, his roommates snoring, talking in their sleep, talking to each other in whispers punctuated by muted sniggers that meant Seamus had pulled out some filthy pictures of a Londinium cabaret revue dancer and was showing Dean, farts, groans, and sighs. When he tried to sleep, he remembered the paralyzed feeling of being in the shower with the Succubi. He clutched the Seal of Solomon Natalie gave him. By the time he woke up, he felt both rested and like he hadn’t slept long enough all at the same time. Either way, he had a Quidditch game to win. Sirius was right, Ravenclaw was an easy victory, and even Mordecai seemed to know it. He gave Harry an apologetic wince every time he saw him, as if he wished to provide him with a better opponent. Harry showered, dressed in his Quidditch uniform, and went down to breakfast for the Saturday morning crowd, mostly boarders who spent the weekends at Hogwarts, unlike Harry, a day student. He had the option of spending evenings at Remus’s and Sirius’s, but usually stayed at Hogwarts on the weekdays to study-they wouldn’t hear of him flunking his weaker subjects like Potions, Astronomy, and Herbology.  
Hermione, Ron, and Ginny waved.  
“Gin! You’re back!” he said.  
The redhead smiled broadly. She wasn’t wearing her Quidditch uniform on a game day, a jarring sight that brought back why she had been out of school. Gianna was a sensation, but Ginny should have been out on the pitch. Harry felt guilty.  
“Oy-thought I’d miss a match?” she said.  
“Well, its only been a week or something. How are you even standing upright?” Harry asked.  
“I’m not, at the moment, you’ll observe,” Ginny said.  
“You know what I mean. Gin, don’t you want more time off?” Harry asked. Ron rolled his eyes-he knew his sister better than that.  
“Gotta live while you’re alive, Harry,” Ginny said. “I was driving Mum crazy, underfoot. I’m no bloody midwife, we just fought because I’m no help to her.”  
“Sorry to hear that,” Harry said.  
“Yeah, well…” Ginny sighed. “I wanted to be here. I’m starting class again on Monday. Where’s Dora?”  
“Took an Egress to the village, to meet up with Remus and Sirius,” Harry said. “I heard you two grew up together.”  
“Not really. She was a little Malfoy princess, I was the herbalist’s daughter. Sometimes, I got her old dolls, or a dress to wear on Beltane that used to be her’s. We played together a bit, but so did Draco and Ron. Then, when they get older, the rich kids out there get too old to play with the servants’ children,” Ginny said.  
“Oh…” Harry said.  
Hermione and Ron looked as if they, too, were awkwardly trying to salvage the conversation in the wake of Ginny’s tone. She seemed intense.  
“You know, my dad had a bad fall out there, building the folly tower on the Malfoys’ property. Madam Malfoy likes to add additions to the estate. There was an accident….” Ginny said. “He’s…He was a Squib, so he didn’t heal as fast as one of us would…”  
“Gin, hey, try not to think of the bad times. It will only drive you crazy. Let’s think about how much he loved you. Just try to feel it, and you’ll feel stronger,” Ron said.  
Ginny looked torn, between her anger and wanting to try it Ron’s way.  
Just then, Roger Shepherd came up to them.  
“Roger! Come to wish Harry good luck?” Hermione said.  
“On…the matter of Tom Riddle’s defeat? I don’t believe in prophecy and chosen saviors,” Roger said haughtily.  
“I think she meant Quidditch. And, I don’t put much stock in that tripe myself,” Harry said, trying to evoke Sirius’s laconic insouciance.  
Ron and Hermione laughed. Ginny thawed, and Roger Shepherd seemed pleasantly surprised.  
“Well…good to know,” Roger said. “Actually, I’m not much of a sports fan. I was wondering if you lot wanted to join Political Science Club?”  
“Yeah, sure,” Ginny said. “I really enjoyed doing my Political Science homework while I was out sick this week. I really thought about things I hadn’t, before. I guess I just figured all Slytherins were jerks, without thinking about why. There’s all this…history behind it.”  
“Exactly! It’s all about history. You know, the Muggles say ‘those who don’t know their history are doomed to repeat it,’” Roger said.  
“Yes, I believe that’s an African proverb,” Hermione said.  
Roger determinedly ignored her, and focused on Ginny as if she had emerged from the ocean on a clam shell. Harry saw her become gentler and more animated under Roger’s gaze, also girlishly flustered. They saw only each other. It was uncanny, but in her slender frame, vibrantly red hair, and, now that she was distracted from her frustration, bright expression, he saw what Sirius and Hagrid meant-she looked like his mother at her sixteenth birthday party.  
A memory came to Harry, rising in his mind’s eye like the answer to a question that he thought he had forgotten until asked…music played and sunshine poured into the windows of a small house….the sound of the ocean outside competed for the sound of the television Harry was standing beside, half entranced by its animated figures and their bright colors, and half drawn by his mother’s voice.  
“Harry! I need you to be a big boy, and look after Rosie,” Lily Potter said.  
Harry knew fear, then, when he was about 3 and a half. He was afraid in the dark, he was afraid when he woke up crying for his daddy and couldn’t figure out why he wouldn’t come back…and he knew that his mummy was afraid. She picked him up, and held her other baby against her other hip.  
“Oy, mate-you should be going. We gotta hit the locker room,” said Ron, the Keeper for Gryffindor.  
“Right,” Harry said, and shook off the memory…if that’s what it was. 

“Rose,” Severus said under his breath.  
Pandora was his alchemical daughter. His confused ghoul’s mind had mixed her up with her mother, and confused the events around him, so that he thought it was Ada whom he needed to protect from marrying Regulus, rather than Pandora and Draco Malfoy. The words ‘Marry me,’ had spilled out. Fighting his Master and weak from the effort of resisting ancient, dark Vampire magic, the silphium in Dora’s blood tempted him more than ever, and screamed that it was the cure…if he drank from her soft neck, he would be a man, a true wizard again.  
Severus looked out at Muggle London, from the rear window of 12, Grimmauld Place. Or, at least, he looked out on the part of it that he could see, the treetops and green knolls of a park. He didn’t want to admit that Regulus had changed his mind with words, only, but damned if Black hadn’t used the right words: alchemical child, as Ada had said in her note, and drawing his daughter’s name out of him.  
“James is dead! I Apparated…he told me to run….I….I…heard him fall…oh, God, oh, God, Severus….you said that you had gotten through to the Dark Lord…you said…” Lily babbled, sobbing, and holding her one year old son, Harry.  
His hair was black, his eyes were green. He could have been their child…if his life had gone differently in a period that usually felt a million lifetimes ago. Their friendship had ended when, intending to hex Sirius Black, he had gotten James Potter, instead-and nearly killed him with the Sectumsempra hex. Only Ada Vaillancourt understood that it had been a mistake, and helped him not to lose his future.  
“I wouldn’t have told Dumbledore so if I hadn’t been confident that…that I could save you,” Severus had told Lily.  
She held onto her son so tightly, that Severus had been afraid that she would harm the boy. He was all she had left of a happiness he had heard of in hearsay that left him bitter, no matter how devoted to Ada, alchemy, and creating a new, more free and equal world by Voldemort’s side he was. No more persecution of Dark Magic and its unfathomable possibilities, no more pandering to Muggles and destroying the wild and deep potency of magic…Voldemort, he’d thought, had ambition, vision, and was a wizard of skill and power. Still, these burning dreams didn’t keep him from hearing that Lily had married James Potter, and lived with him at Orchard Grange, his family estate, a Faerie blessed place. She had a son.  
When Severus learned that she was in danger, Voldemort fell off his pedestal. Severus saw that he had been wrong. He didn't want Tom Riddle's regime, any more. He only wanted to protect Ada and her daughter, and save Lily and her son. The two women he loved, neither of whom had chosen him…but that wasn’t what mattered.  
Ada was dead by the time Lily apparated to the small cottage in the Vale where he was living while serving as Tiberius Malfoy’s personal physician. He would soon be transferring to Drakenberg, Voldemort’s private prison, where Dumbledore wanted him to assist in the escape of any members of the Resistance who came through.  
It was weeks before Lily was herself again. Caring for her and Harry made Severus feel calm and purposeful. He knew her feelings: he mourned Ada, and had to let go of Pandora, too, though she was being raised by the Malfoys, so he still saw her, in the arms of nannies walking by the dying patriarch Tiberius’s room holding her, on the way to Narcissa Malfoy's sitting room; she was tiny swaddled in their arms,at first, but grew into a healthy toddler. The silphium had worked.  
Regulus,Dora's father, was a solitary recluse. At least Lily still had Harry. Just like when they were children, and he told her all he knew, had seen, heard, been told, or read of magic, Lily looked at him with deeply listening eyes when he gently told her to bathe, put on fresh clothes, eat something.  
For Harry, she grew engaged and interested in life again…and looked at Severus with trust and gratitude. When they kissed, as they hadn’t done since they were shy twelve year olds, she smelled like happiness: strawberries, sunlight, plum trees.  
“What do people here in Wizard Country say about you, the Dark Lord’s favourite doctor, keeping a Squib mistress, and a bastard son out in the house the Malfoys let you?” she’d asked, when she learned that was the lie he told to protect her identity.  
“No one gives a damn what I do, Lily,” Severus said.  
“I can’t hide here forever, Sev,” Lily said. “I’ll have to go it alone and hide with Harry. He’s the last Phoenix Consurgens boy, the last boy the Prophecy said would be a greater wizard than Voldemort. He killed the others. Voldemort won’t give up.”  
He argued that it was Dumbledore’s wishes that she stay with him, but that was an obfuscation-the old man hadn’t said anything about how long Lily should hide with him, nor had he expressly said she should stay in the secluded cottage in the Vale. She was getting better, but tired of hiding, and usually ended up agreeing whenever he questioned her plans to run on her own with Harry.  
When they made love for the first and only time, Severus hadn’t realized how unsatisfied he had been by his earlier encounters with female followers of the Dark Lord trying to prove how liberated they were, women of the new order who didn’t need to wait for marriage, or prostitutes that Lucius shared with his colleagues, ever the ‘don’t let me drink alone’ sort. They hadn’t been the woman he wanted, Ada Black, and so he had held back, not feeling any love. He didn't feel that way with Lily-he felt liberated. Lily didn’t hold back, either-she was a fierce person, and relished joy and happiness as if it was sunlight on an Arctic island where winter’s darkness lasted for 24 hours a day for a quarter of the year. She was mining his body for any joy, reprieve, or respite it could give her, and made a sound almost like laughter when she orgasmed. Lily wasn’t Ada, but she had been his best friend and first crush, first kiss, and first wish. Before he wanted anyone or anything else, he wanted all of Lily.  
After several weeks, they knew-she was pregnant. Those nine months were the happiest Severus dreamed were possible for a man like him, whose laughter and sense of safety, trust of others, and confidence in himself had been shattered as a boy. Spring, summer, and early autumn passed in the Vale, Lily grew round, happy, and engaged with life, caring for herself with a new zeal and commitment unprodded by him, and he found a guarded love in his heart for her son, Harry, too.  
Rose was born. He could hardly believe that she was real, alive, human, and created from the sighs and touches that still haunted him with arousal whenever he looked at his best friend. They were friends again…a friendship that felt like a marriage, at times, but they hadn’t kissed or made love again, and Severus found that he didn’t feel the need to push the issue.  
He was happy-until Lily fled by herself, with Harry and Rose. By the time he returned to the Vale, Lily and Harry were lost to him, and there was no way he could raise Rose by himself. He was a wreck of a man, just like his old friend, Regulus Black.  
Severus left Rose on the steps of a family called the Weasleys. The wife was a cunning woman, like his own mother had been, in her way. He knew that Rose would be loved. When she became one of his students at Hogwarts, he found out that they had named her Ginevra.  
He should have told them her name was Rose. It suited her, he had always thought, because, like the healthy baby he had held in his arms, roses were perfect.  
It had all gone wrong, when he tried to protect Lily, and Rose…and Harry. All he could do was pretend to despise the boy so that they never grew close, and he could never fail him twice.  
Morning stole over the treetops of the park. Severus turned into his Familiar form: Ghouls could change shape, into an animal form, if that would better serve their masters. The Raven he became perched on the window, and took off, towards Hogsmeade. His own daughter had a new name, a new family, and was a stranger to him. The two women he had loved were dead. He would not fail his alchemical child….


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus hesitates; Ginny and Dora find common ground; Sirius tells Dora some family history

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was weird portraying Sirius as a nurturing, kind man in his adult years with his family, and writing Severus's memories and opinion of him as a bullying youth. I hope what comes through is that they were all nervous kids who rubbed each other the wrong way, and never let go of that initial bad impression. Interestingly, Ginny and Pandora are able to talk out their differences quite easily! Enjoy the chapter:)

“What would you like on your pancakes, Dora? Marmalade, guava jelly, whipped cream?” Remus asked.  
“All of it!” Dora answered enthusiastically.  
Pancakes, in her opinion, were the perfect nearly tasteless and fluffy template on which to pile jellies, fruits, and syrups: sort of like the breakfast equivalent of vanilla ice cream.  
Remus laughed bemusedly, and Sirius’s gray eyes twinkled as he quipped, “Oh, to be young again. You’ve a braver stomach than I.”  
“Don’t let him fool you, Dora-he loves sweets, even though they make him as hyper as pixie,” Remus said.  
Dora laughed, and Sirius looked jokingly wounded. They sat around the small, round table covered in a blue and white gingham tablecloth in the small kitchen, which had Muggle appliances, and windows over the sink through which the morning sun happily shone.  
“Slander!” Sirius said. “And hypocrisy. This one has a serious chocolate addiction.” He pointed at Remus. “What wouldn’t he do for a Klondike bar, is the question.” When Dora looked blank, Sirius explained, “it’s a slogan from a Muggle commercial, for chocolate covered ice cream. Sorry, my love-I reckon you haven’t seen much television.”  
“No, sir,” she said. “My uncle didn’t allow it. He rather dislikes Muggle technology.”  
“Oh…you mean he’d bloody hate this place, then?” Sirius asked, with a roguish smirk.  
Dora hesitated. How could she tell him, politely, that, yes, indeed her other Uncle would hate his Muggle-fied, small house, would consider it common, beneath a Pureblood and a Guildsman?  
Her Uncle Sirius burst out laughing, knowing well her dilemma.  
“Its all right, dear. I can imagine,” he said. “Let me show you the television.”  
“Now?” Dora asked.  
She was excited. Draco wasn’t allowed to take the Muggle Studies elective class, of course, and had made a big show of disdain about it in front of Uncle Lucius, but confessed to Dora that he wished he could take it. Dora planned to, and with her uncle’s microwave oven, television, and telephone to play around with, she would surely be ahead in her studies.  
“‘Course-there’s never any time better than the present,” Sirius said, and stood from his chair. Dora did the same, and Sirius led her into the living room.  
The sofa and loveseat inclined towards the television, and the room was also happily cluttered with Wellington boots and Macintoshes by the door, books taken down from shelves and sat on the coffee table, and coffee cans that held pencils, ink pens, quills, and paint brushes.  
“This, is the remote control,” he said, and handed her a slender, rectangular, black object covered in buttons. It was like the first time she held a wand-she was a little afraid of its potential to make things happen. “That button with a circle and a line through it? That always means ‘Power’. It turns things on, and off. Go on, then.”  
Dora pressed the power button. She almost screamed as the box came to life with color and noise.  
“Harry left it on WMTV again,” Sirius groaned. “Wizarding Music Television,” he explained. Loud music played by a long-haired rock band blared from the TV.  
“How does it work?” Dora asked.  
Sirius explained about satellites, signals, frequencies, and waves. She understood some of it, because of its similarities to how magic was conducted into a wand, but the fact that energy could explode into the color and sound of a recording was nearly miraculous.  
“Uncle, that’s amazing! And you know so much about Muggle science!” she said.  
“Ah, now that’s more like it. Uncle, I will answer to-never call me ‘sir’ again, Dora,” Sirius said.  
“I promise, I’ll desist,” she said, smiling. Once again, just like at Buttershaw Hall, she felt like it was very easy to like him, even love him. They were family, blood, and she had never met any of her relatives besides the Malfoys.  
“Good girl,” Sirius said. “So, use these buttons here for the noble art of channel surfing.”  
Dora tried it, more and more enchanted as she went on. Sirius looked at her with fondness and patience.  
“You pick things up very quickly, Dora. Just like your dad. Gods, but he was clever! If he had been confident, too, he would have been a great wizard,” Sirius said.  
“You don’t think of my father as a great wizard?” she asked.  
Sirius sighed. “Dora…I’m sorry. I should have put that differently. Yes, he was certainly a talented wizard. Made it to the Emerald Order, didn’t he? That’s one of the reasons Voldemort wanted him, probably-Voldemort’s very interested in Alchemy. But, he died so young, darling, he didn’t get to do much with all that talent. If he had lived longer…and with your mum by his side, being the true brains of the operation…he would have been stellar.”  
Dora felt a black hole in the pit of her stomach. How much, she wondered, should she tell Sirius about her parents’ experiment with silphium?  
“What’s on your mind, love? You have that Noble and Most Ancient House of Black look on your face. I know it well. It means, there’s a secret afoot, and you wish you could forget it, but now you know,” Sirius said.  
She couldn’t tell him about what she had learned about her parents just yet-she wanted to see her parents’ files, first.  
“Uncle….my aunt, Cissy, doesn’t trust you…” Dora began.  
Sirius laughed, an abrupt, hoarse laugh with a note of irony. “No, but she told me so herself when Maurice suggested that she move to Orchard Grange with us, when its sorted,” Sirius said. “Dora-what did she tell you? Do you trust me?”  
“I want to, Uncle. You make me laugh, you are generous, you are kind, and I believe you when you say you wanted to take me in when I was a baby,” she said.  
“Good. I’m glad you believe that, its true, I promise you, Dora,” Sirius said.  
“But…Aunt Cissy said that you abandoned her sister, Bellatrix. Your wife. And…your daughter. Is that true?” Dora asked.  
Sirius sighed, and raked his hands through his long, graying black hair.  
“Sit down, Pandora; let me explain,” he said.  
They sat side by side on the couch.  
“I’d known as long as I can remember that I was betrothed to my cousin, Bellatrix. She was a smart, haughty, wild little thing, always in some kind of trouble or shooting her mouth off, but she was gorgeous and her father adored her, so she was used to getting out of trouble and getting whatever whim she wanted. She fancied herself in love with me, but I never believed it, or pretended the same,” Sirius said. “Something about marrying Bella always felt wrong…and when I went to school and realized not everyone’s family was quite as inbred as ours’, I didn’t feel like the problem just lay with me. Am I shocking you, dear? Our family got into the habit of intermarrying to shore up the money and maintain purity, but it was one of many things about our lineage I found distasteful.”  
“I was betrothed to Draco…but, I could never imagine…you know…being a wife to him,” Dora said. She hoped her uncle understood.  
“I felt the same about Bellatrix. I just didn’t think I could….go there,” Sirius said. “And, when I went to school, I rather quickly realized that I felt attracted to other boys. I…fancied boys I knew, worshipped them, wanted to be their one and only, their favorite, and wanted to live in the Garden of Eden with whoever it was I was infatuated with at any given time. First, James, Harry’s father. No luck that way-he was in love with Lily from the moment he clapped eyes on her. There were other boys like me-quite a lot of them-and we discreetly messed about to figure ourselves out, and express ourselves…but, it was more than that, with Remus. I was in love with him. I knew it was different to just fancying someone because it made me feel afraid, but alive. And it didn’t go away. It still hasn’t, and I know it never will. I tried girls, and I enjoyed it….but, all told, I was a Molly, and by the time I was 14 I knew it for sure.”  
“But, your mother, my grandmother, Walburga-did she not exile Great Uncle Alphard for being a….homosexual?” Pandora said.  
Sirius nodded. “Oh, yes, dear. So, me being me, I ran straight to him! Can you imagine? A spot-faced fifteen year old slipping into the office of a cabaret and running up to Al, saying, ‘I’m your nephew, I’m a Molly like you, do you think you can help me’?”  
“How brave of you!” Pandora said.  
“Well, I didn’t want you thinking you were the only Black ever to run away from home,” Sirius joked. “Lucky for me, Al was quite mellow about it all, and Egressed me home to Mum. He appealed to her to be kind to me, understanding, not to make the mistake with me she had with him. Went over like a lead balloon. Anyway, I knew the way to Al’s now, and I wouldn’t be kept away. I liked the music, the sights, and learned a bit of this, a bit of that, from hanging around: how to tend bar, how to tend a drag queen’s wigs, how to get done up in drag myself, come to that, and some bawdy songs. He made sure no one tried anything on me. Of course, by the time I was sixteen, I was trying plenty-you understand?”  
“You were having…affairs,” Dora said.  
“Yes, dear. But, when I was sixteen is also when me and Bella were to be married. We had been provisionally married, if you will, since birth…but the penultimate day of Saturnalia is when we were to consummate. Before a viewing audience of our demon’s brood,” Sirius said. “I did a runner! To the Potters, of course. Kind people, very kind. But, the thing of it was, my Mum wouldn’t let me off so easy as that, at first. Bella was pregnant.”  
“But…you left before the consummation. Had you two had a liaison?” Pandora asked.  
“Not at all. Bella had a lover-Tom Riddle, a newly elected Guildsman taking our world by storm. An elected seat wasn’t quite as venerable as an inherited seat on the Guild, but he had a wave behind him. He was a Slytherin, but beneath the surface he practically had his own Coven, a new, fifth coven that was only loyal to him,” Sirius said.  
“The Death Eaters,” Dora concluded.  
“Not quite. Death Eaters did his dirty bidding in the shadows, fought for him. My wife, if we must call her that, was one of his civilian supporters who zealously fawned over him, which helped his rise,” Sirius said. “Riddle was Belphoebe’s father. But, Bella and I were intended, and I was the Heir, so her daughter was called mine. I had no problem taking responsibility for the kid-what had she ever done to me, or anybody? I would be her dad, I decided, because I thought I would be a good one. I’d let her have a bicycle, and a television in her room, and she would see museums, and plays. Play in parks. Go to concerts, and dance.”  
“But, that didn’t happen,” Pandora said.  
“No,” Sirius said sadly. “You’re a smart girl, Pandora. You learned somehow, somewhere down the line that you weren’t going to be told everything you wanted to know. So, you learned to listen. You know what happened to Belphoebe.”  
“And…Bellatrix?” Pandora asked.  
“She was just a fanatic, a zealous follower…but, after she murdered our daughter, my wife became a Death Eater. She’s done murder for Riddle, and things that may just be worse. Who knows if she’s alive, or in some unique Hell even now for the things she’s done,” Sirius said, “But, I reckon Cissy thinks it’s all my fault.”  
“Yes,” Dora whispered.  
“I agree with her, darling,” Sirius said. “I hate that I failed Belphoebe. But, I was 17, living with a friend, I had nowhere to take a baby to raise…I couldn’t have insisted, neither could the Potters or Uncle Al. I am who I am, Dora-can you trust me?”  
“Yes, Uncle. I do trust you. It hurts me, that little Belphoebe had to pay for the world we were born into,” Pandora said. “she should be here. I feel like I’ve taken her place!”  
“Is that a bad thing?” Sirius said. “She’s in the stars, with the ancestors…and you are as dear to me as she was. I want to give you anything and everything I can, Dora. And I feel we have Belphoebe’s blessing. You didn’t take her place, Dora-it was stolen from her, but she gave it to you.”  
Dora hugged her uncle. Sirius held her tight. She felt his tears grace the top of her head, which he then kissed. They pulled apart, and looked into each other’s gray eyes.  
Remus stood at the eaves of the arch between the kitchen and living room.  
“Is everything all right?” he asked, with concern.  
“Dora had some questions, that’s all. We should head up to Hogwarts for the match, shouldn’t we?” Sirius said.  
“Try not to shout your suggestions for how the game should be played. Luckily, the crowds are so loud, no one ever hears him,” Remus said.  
Dora laughed. Sirius smiled, and said,  
“Dora, you can be forgiven for being a Quidditch novice, but as many matches as he’s been to, and he’s still figuring out the scoring system!”  
“Exaggerating just a bit, my old friend? Now, will you open the Egress, or shall I?” Remus said.  
“After you, my love,” Sirius said, leaving no doubt in Dora’s mind that they were far more than dear friends.  
Remus looked at Sirius with deep love in his eyes, and opened the Egress. Sirius helped her through, and Remus followed. They emerged at the end of the slowly moving line to the Quidditch Pitch, with a tangle of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw students, and parents.

‘Not now. Not yet,’ the Raven told its Master, as it wheeled in the gray sky. Pandora wore Muggle clothes, and was standing between Lupin and Black, her uncle and his lover.  
Inside the raven’s body, Severus remembered the first time he had met Sirius Black, on the train to school.  
“I want the seat by the window!” the round-faced, gray eyed boy had demanded. He was a soft, well fed and smug boy, before becoming as lithely muscular as a jaguar from playing Beater on the Gryffindor Quidditch team.  
“So, go find another,” Severus had said, and the boy mimicked his Northern accent. His friend, a bespectacled boy called James Potter had laughed at Sirius’s mimicry, and then asked Severus,  
“Where are you from?”  
His voice was bright and cheery, but if he was standing beside the mean one, Severus felt he couldn’t trust him. He clammed up, half out of anxiety, half out of disdain.  
“Same place as me! Have you got a problem with that?” Lily demanded, returning to the compartment with her arms full of sweets from the trolley.  
“No, I was just asking…” James had said, seeming baffled by how the scene had turned ugly.  
“Just go away!” Lily said fiercely, and the boys obeyed, but Sirius had given Severus a relishingly malicious look that said he’d see him later.  
Sirius was considered funny and charming, handsome and a good friend to have by his Gryffindor cronies, but from the moment they met he delighted in showing Severus his capacity for cruelty. He was not a brute sort of bully, who pounded with his fists, but he used jinxes with humiliating effects on Severus, and verbally mocked him, as well. It enraged him, and made him anxious that he’d run into Sirius in the corridors. No one saw that secret, cruel side of his, like Severus did. Sirius showed people what they wanted and expected to see, and to those who saw him as charming, he was…but he had always wanted Severus to be afraid of him, and for a long time, he was.  
After Hogwarts, he joined the anti-Voldemort resistance. He ran a Molly House known for neutrality in the war, but in fact it was a place where information and favors were passed. He seemed like Teflon for years, no one ever caught out the amoral rebel heir living in vice in Londinium out in his political sympathies, but then Sirius’s devilish and undeserved luck ran out and he came to Drakenberg…to the exam table in Severus’s clinic at the prison.  
“Do your worst, Snivelly. You have me at your mercy-such stuff as dreams are made on, eh?” Sirius had mocked, strapped to the table.  
All Severus could think of was not even the years of making him look like a fool at school…but his role in helping Lily leave him, helping her run off with Rose and Harry. He would, as Dumbledore had instructed, help Sirius get out of the prison…but he would lose something. Severus felt he was owed that.  
Then, there was Remus. There had been no one in Cokeworth like Remus. His mother drove a powder blue convertible, and she was American. Not merely American, but Hollywood-long legs, Marilyn Monroe-esque light blonde hair and a curvy body, and a breathy voice. She was an actress, in fact, and had been doing a film in France about a young girl’s first love when she met Remus’s father, a loup-garou werewolf. Remus had been to good schools in Switzerland as his mother looked for love with well-off men, and he spoke so posh it made Severus and Lily want to protect him before he got beat up outside the comic shop if anyone heard him. He’d moved there the summer before Hogwarts, and had a knack for finding magical creatures in lonely places as they roamed the moors, wild and dreaming.  
Severus didn’t understand him. He stopped knowing his former friend’s mind when he chose Black and Potter over his friends from home, told them his secret, not Severus, Robbie, and Lily. Part of the bond between him and Remus had always been their interest in Defense Against the Dark Arts…and Black’s family were infamous for the Dark Arts. Severus didn’t like his odds of snatching Pandora with either man by her side. They could have some nasty shocks for him that would utterly mitigate the powers he had as a Ghoul, and as Wizards, he had to admit, all three of them were even at dueling. It would be messy, a scene, the opposite of his mission.  
The Raven flew by. It decided it could wait.

The line moved, admitting Remus, Sirius, and Dora to the pitch. They sat on the Gryffindor side, near Ginny Weasley.  
“Miss Weasley! You’re well!” Dora exclaimed.  
Ginny sighed with mild exasperation. “You can call me ‘Ginny,’ Dora-we used to make daisy chains together,” Ginny said.  
Dora laughed, but said, “You didn’t seem to recognize me, when we met again at Buttershaw Hall.”  
“I was possessed, wasn’t?” Ginny said. “That had a bit to do with it.”  
“Oh…right. Well, its not just that. After my aunt, sacking your mother as her carer…I just assumed you didn’t like me, anymore. You didn’t come over at all last summer,” Dora said.  
“To do what? Pal around with your posh friends? You were busy with that lot,” Ginny said.  
“Don’t be daft! Those cows?” Pandora said.  
This got Ginny’s attention. She looked incredulous, and said, “What? You mean Stelliana Candlesnow, Agrippina Swithin, all those poshes….you hate them?”  
“They hate me! They’re jealous vipers. They were utter dunces in Potioncraft class, and always having a go at me because I actually try! They put it down to me having an amour with Professor Snape,” Dora grumbled.  
“Well…didn’t you?” Ginny said.  
At Dora’s incredulous face, Ginny laughed wickedly.  
“I’m just kidding! To the Devil with those slags, then-I never knew they were giving you a hard time. I’d see you walking around with that Bonnet Squad, and I figured you wanted none of me. So…I left you to it. Your lady training. How to waltz, and stuff. I’m not saying I wouldn’t mind it…there were times I used to wish I could have nice things, and be looked at the way boys look at you…but, I’m not gonna bloody grovel for it,” she said.  
“How I missed you, Ginevra!” Pandora said.  
“Thanks, Crumpet. Don’t assume like that. Of course, I’m not pleased that Mum was sacked for Snape, but I don’t blame you. I hate the system, out in the Vale-where its rich Purebloods on top, poor folks and Squibs on the bottom. I want to change things, Dora,” Ginny said, impassionedly.  
“Yes! I heartily agree!” Pandora said.  
“Roger Shepherd’s invited me to his club. You should come!” Ginny said. “Maybe I can tell people about what happened to Dad, there.”  
“Ginny…your father died of Dragon Fever,” Dora said. It was a lesser strain of Dragon Pox.  
“Yeah, but he wouldn’t have done if he hadn’t had that bad fall, building the folly tower out on your uncle’s estate! He was weakened, and then Guildsman Malfoy wouldn’t pay Dad fair for the work he’d done! Mum tried her best to care for him, but she’s just a first degree healer. He needed a hospital…and we couldn’t afford it…” Ginny said, sounding increasingly distraught.  
Sirius and Remus looked over.  
“Ginny? Is everything all right?” Remus asked.  
“I…its just not fair. How things are. Dr. Lupin, you know what I mean…” she said.  
“Yes, dear. I do,” Remus said. “But, we can’t live every moment in pain, and never give ourselves respite or relief. That would kill us. That would drive us mad.”  
“Ginny, I’m so sorry…” Pandora said.  
“Dora, don’t apologize for that man. Whatever Lucius Malfoy’s sins are, you’re not involved because you ate at his table,” Sirius warned her.  
“Its not you, Dora. Its…the bloody world,” Ginny said.  
“I’ll come to Political Science Club with you,” Dora promised.  
The game began, and Sirius and Ginny rushed to explain each maneuver to Dora, much to Remus’s amusement. Dora was half thrilled, half confused, by Quidditch. The Gryffindor team wore bright red and yellow, and played hard-they flew thrillingly fast, and their Beaters hit with vicious determination (quite up to her Uncle Sirius’s standard, she deduced from his enthusiastic cheers of the players in his former position), and their Chasers scored often. Ravenclaw, even Dora realized, was admirably striving, but not as passionate.  
Mort and Harry were flying higher than the other players, making random zig-zags in their attempts to catch the all-important Snitch.  
Dora gathered that explaining Quidditch was helping to soothe Ginny’s mind, so she asked her many questions. Sirius picked up on this, too, and reigned it in, letting Ginny answer.  
“Watch Harry,” Ginny said.  
He was picking up speed, but flying downwards, instead of further upwards. His descent had started abruptly, as if he had just seen something-the Snitch! He was diving for it, becoming a red and gold blur as he hurtled as if to crash, Mort trying to outpace him and dive for it, first. Then, Harry veered up, up, and up, once more, changing streams.  
“He feinted him! The bloody Wronski feint! I bet that wasn’t in the play!” Ginny said.  
“Wait…he pretended to have seen the Snitch? Why?” Dora asked.  
“So Gorse wouldn’t see it before him! He got his eye off the prize, didn’t he, hot on Harry’s heels like that, so he lost time in actually looking for the Snitch! Wronski Feint’s a pro move. Damned tricky. I think that was in your honor, Dora,” Ginny said.  
“Oh, come off it. Harry knows I’m Quidditch illiterate,” Dora said.  
“Yeah, but you were still impressed. I think that was the point,” Ginny said.  
“Just like James,” Sirius said.  
Remus chuckled in agreement, and they regaled the girls with dumb tricks Harry’s father had tried to look like a Quidditch hero in Harry’s mother’s eyes. The girls laughed.  
“Was she ever impressed?” Ginny asked.  
“Lily wasn’t a sports fan. We were the brainy sort, she and I. She loved art, and music,” Remus said.  
“What kind of music?” Ginny asked.  
“Queen! She was a bloody fanatic! I listen to ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ on her birthday, in her honor, every year,” Sirius said.  
“Well, too bad she didn’t fancy you-since you were in a rock band and all. Shouldn’t that have appealed to her?” Ginny said.  
“You see, Jamie was the safer option. I think she was intimidated by my Byronic allure,” Sirius said.  
Remus laughed, and said, “I hope you haven’t spent all these years under this delusion.”  
Sirius smiled, and more soberly, told the girls, “Something pretty major happened to James. He was scarred. Lily helped him deal. Quidditch alone never would have won Lily Evans. She had substance-like you girls.”  
“Aw, thanks, Sirius!” Ginny said.  
“Ginevra, when I was your age, I wanted to change the world, too. Tell your story, at that club of your’s…but don’t stop there. Use how you feel to pursue real ways to make change, once you understand the full scope of things. I could use a good clerk, at the Guild…so get trained up, already!” Sirius said.  
Remus smiled with pride at his love. Ginny looked flustered, but her dark eyes shone bright.  
“Sirius….” She said. “You mean it? Me, an intern for you?”  
“Keep in mind, interns don’t get paid, before you genuflect to me or something,” he said.  
Dora and Remus, and Ginny laughed.  
“I know, I know, but still….thank you!” Ginny said.  
“Just mind your political science classes, at school. There are a lot of electives to take if you’re interested in diplomacy…speak to McGonagall about it,” Remus advised.  
They had all lost track of the game, but their attention was drawn back when the announcer boomed,  
“ITS OVER, FOLKS!!!!!! THAT’S A WRAP! POTTER’S CAUGHT THE SNITCH!!!”  
Sirius, Remus, Dora, and Ginny clapped and cheered, until Ginny reminded Pandora,  
“You’re in Ravenclaw! You just lost!”  
This drew more laughter from the group. Pandora couldn’t remember ever laughing so much with the Malfoys. Sure, she often laughed with Anthea before she left home. Anthea was the life of any room she was in. Draco made her laugh in secret, when he mimicked the pretentious affectations of his father and his colleagues, and skewered their society with his wit…but to laugh like this, wholesomely and joyfully as a family, was not how families lived in the Vale. Dora felt so free.  
Both teams flew back to the grass, dismounted their brooms, and shook hands. Mordecai was heartily pumping Harry’s hand in an enthusiastic handshake, and then they hugged warmly. The Gryffindor team ran to the stands, and highfived the spectators wishing to congratulate them.  
“Oy, Potter! Up here!” Ginny called loudly.  
Harry ran to their seats.  
“Well done, Harry!” Remus said.  
“That feint was legendary! You’ll be known for that one, but use it sparingly,” Sirius said.  
Harry nodded attentively, taking Sirius’s advice to heart.  
“What did you think? That was your first match, wasn’t it?” Harry asked Pandora.  
“It was brilliant! Oh, Harry, I’m so happy! And you were….amazing,” she babbled.  
His green eyes were bright, brilliant, beautiful, full of light and love. He wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her. His arms were tight about her waist, and her feet left the ground. Dora felt safe and happy as Harry picked her up.  
“That is my niece, young man,” Sirius said.  
“Oh! Sirius! Sorry!” Harry said, as he set Pandora down and they broke apart.  
Sirius burst into wicked laughter.  
“Psych! Go get showered up, so we can take you and your godsister to lunch,” Sirius said.  
“Maybe referring to Dora as his godsister is a bit awkward to them, at this stage, dear?” Remus said.  
“You’re speaking to a man married to his cousin for the last twenty years-I’m still acclimating to your societal norms,” Sirius said.  
Harry and Ginny looked shocked.  
“I’ve got to go collect Lucilla from the Hufflepuff dorms,” Pandora said.  
“Ptolemy,” Harry reminded her. “And she’s over there, in the stands-see, holding the banner with the Ravenclaw eagle smashing into a windshield and getting wiped away by the windshield wipers? I couldn’t miss that one! Made me laugh every time I flew by!”  
“She didn’t cheer for Ravenclaw? Well, I shall have words with her!” Dora said.  
Her family laughed.


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is made an enticing offer, and confesses to Pandora about the Succubi attack; Severus meets with his Master

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone is staying safe and well! Thanks for bringing me so much joy by trying this story out, and, hopefully, enjoying it:)

“Put that thing away!” Pandora said.  
Lucy insisted on waving her anti-Ravenclaw banner as she, Pandora, Remus, Sirius, Ginny, and Ron walked away from the pitch.  
“Oh, no hard feelings? From what I hear, the Ravenclaw Quidditch team is notoriously indifferent!” Lucy said.  
Ginny, Ron, Sirius, and Harry laughed.  
“Harry Potter?” asked a wizard approaching them. He was a softbellied, clean-cut looking man, whom Harry had never seen before.  
“Er, yeah,” Harry said.  
“I saw your performance out there-excellent Feint. Ever tried that move before?” asked the man eagerly.  
“No, I just read about it, in books about Quidditch, and sports coverage in the news,” Harry said. Sirius put his hand on Harry’s shoulder and gave him a glance that reminded him not to say too much.  
“Took nerve, that, to try it today. And pull it off, too! What inspired that? Did you think the game was running away from you, or want to do something memorable?” the man asked, in a tone Pandora found too familiar.  
Her uncle, Lucius, had taught her and her cousins to be wary of people who seemed too ingratiating-they undoubtedly wanted something.  
“Pardon me, but are you a Hogwarts parent? Or, do you make a habit of watching young men at secluded boarding schools play Quidditch?” Sirius asked.  
“Sirius!” Remus said admonishingly, but Ginny, Ron, Lucy, and Dora were eyeing each other and trying to contain their giggles.  
The man laughed overlong, with force merriment. “Sorry, should have introduced myself right off, shouldn’t I have?”  
“I’ll begin, if you need an example of how its done. I’m Sirius Black, this is my husband, Remus Lupin, and yes, our godson is Harry Potter. Now, who are you?” Sirius asked.  
“Sorry, again. Geoffrey Winnington. I’m a scout for the Montrose Magpies,” he said. “We’re always looking for fresh talent, and Hogwarts has one of the best school Quidditch programs in Wizardom, everyone knows it! Product of it myself: Chaser for Hufflepuff. I say…weren’t you a Beater for Gryffindor?”  
“I was,” Sirius said. “You were a couple years ahead of us, weren’t you? I remember when you dropped out in your sixth year to join the Magpies.”  
“I remember you, too! You were bloody ferocious! A hit from you could really put a bloke out of commission, even with Madam Pomfrey’s considerable talent at bone mending,” Winnington said.  
“What can I say? Hitting things is good fun, and when you’re a Beater they not only allow it, they set you to it,” Sirius said.  
He wasn’t as softened as Winnington had hoped he would be by the compliment of his former Quidditch prowess, and Harry was looking between the two men to gauge what would happen next, as was Remus.  
“We’ve been watching Harry for a while, and we had some reservations about approaching him, but what I saw today sealed our mind. Harry, how would you like a place with the Magpies?” Winnington said, smiling hungrily at Harry.  
“A place?” he asked. “Do you mean…on your team? The Montrose Magpies? They’ve won the championship more times than any other team in Britain! You want me?”  
“You’ve got skill, nerve, and you know how to please a crowd-why wouldn’t we want you?” Winnington said. Dora wished he would drop the ‘kindly uncle’ act. She hoped Harry saw right through it.  
“Harry’s only 16. Just because you left Hogwarts to pursue a career in sport doesn’t mean it must be the norm, nor that its right for Harry,” Sirius said.  
Harry gave Sirius a stricken look, begging him to be quiet.  
Winnington smiled wider. ‘Careful,’ Dora warned towards her uncle, in her thoughts. Winnington seemed to be the sort of man who thrived on being opposed, who liked drawing hidden antipathy out in the open, and using his adversary’s dislike of him to disqualify them. If Sirius stood too firmly against Harry having a career in Quidditch, he would only want it more for being denied, and Winnington would look attractively sympathetic.  
“Harry has an exceptional talent, and that can create exceptional opportunities,” Winnington said. “And, allows for some exceptions, too. No one’s saying Harry has to leave school. We can arrange something. But, I’m not going to talk round the point or mince words: we’d love you to train with the team this summer, and see what happens. Maybe you’ll be on reserve, work your way into the lineup after a season or two…or maybe you’ll start. That depends on you, Harry, but with what I saw today…I’d say you have what it takes to take things as far as you want them. As the Americans say, 'the right stuff'. “Thanks,” Harry said.  
“Are you a keen student, Harry?” Geoff said.  
“Harry’s a very diligent student, and he’s quite proficient at Defense Against the Dark Arts, especially,” Remus said.  
“Yeah, it’s the only thing besides Quidditch I’m any good at. I’m pants at school, really,” Harry said.  
“Well, booksmarts aren’t everything,” Winnington said. “Here’s my card. Keep in touch, and don’t rush your decision.”  
Winnington went on his way, and Remus and Sirius exchanged a look.  
“The Magpies, mate!” Ron said, and the boys exchanged excited looks.  
“Most championships in league history!” Harry said.  
“Yeah, but I don’t trust that bloke Winnington. Sirius, what was he like in school?” Ginny asked.  
“Search me. He was older, He was Hufflepuff-we didn’t see much of each other. There was a big stir around his name when he was recruited for the Magpies and went off to play for them, but I was a bit preoccupied figuring out that my best friend was a werewolf…and keeping my other best friend from proposing marriage to Lily Evans in the corridors between classes,” Sirius said.  
Remus and the children laughed.  
“Well, he finally got round us and did it, after school-good thing she said yes!” Remus said. “For my money, all I remember about Winnington is that Bertha Jorkins fancied him. I never followed Quiddtich closely. Harry, tell us what you’re thinking, right now?”  
“I want it. Who wouldn’t? I mean…this could be it, couldn’t it? I never thought about playing pro…but, I love Quidditch, and it really is the only thing I’m good at, and I’ve gotta do something after school. But, I want to be an Auror, too-and isn’t that more important than playing Quidditch for a living?” Harry said.  
“All careers matter, Harry. Each of us plays a role in the web of the world, contributing to humanity in their own way. If people like Sirius didn’t draft and pass the laws they felt were best for Wizardom, we would live in anarchy. If there were no Healers like me and Ron and Ginny’s mother,what would people do when they’re ill? Sport inspires people, keeps them going, makes them happy. It’s worthwhile for that,” Remus said.  
“I’m not going to tell you what to do with your future. I can’t tell you what to want. But, I’d be remiss if I didn’t tell you I don’t think you can trust that Winnington. This was too sudden, and I didn’t like that bit about you knowing how to ‘put on a show’. Sure, there’s an element of show to sport, but is that what he’s after? Some kind of performing monkey?” Sirius said.  
“How could he make a performing monkey of me?” Harry asked.  
Remus gave him an asking look, appealing for restraint.  
“Harry,” Sirius sighed. “It makes a neat little story, doesn’t it? All you’ve been through…then becoming a Quidditch phenom, a wundkerkind, something to pan the camera to when there’s a lull in the game.”  
“Or, maybe I’m just actually talented at something,” Harry said.  
“Of course you’re talented-he wouldn’t want to use you if you weren’t. Look, he just seemed all the wrong kinds of keen, to me, and it gave me the vibe that he wants to capitalize on what you’ve been through,” Sirius said.  
“Remus?” Harry asked.  
“Harry…Mr. Winnington has to explain a lot more about what the Magpies are prepared to do for you, especially regarding your education and security, if he wants you to seriously consider this,” Remus said. “This doesn’t all fall on you-he has to show you in transparent and honest terms what his organization is offering-if this is what you want. That’s what you have to decide, first.”  
Harry looked thoughtful and took Dora’s hand. She couldn’t quite read his thoughts through their chord, because he wasn’t thinking articulately. She felt a mélange of murky feelings, in shades of dark violet and gray.  
“I’ve missed everything! I’m so sorry, Harry! But, I heard Gryffindor won. Congratulations! Huzzah!” Hermione said, jogging up to them.  
“Where the devil were you?” Ginny asked.  
“The village! You see, my pen friend came into town, rather unannounced, wanting to catch up over coffee, so…Ron, Harry, you do understand? Its just one match,” Hermione said.  
“No hard feelings, ‘Mione. Which pen friend, the girl from Ecuador?” Harry asked.  
“Um, no, never mind about that. Who was that man?” Hermione asked.  
Ron, Ginny, and Harry caught her up on the offer from Winnington.  
“Harry, may I borrow my niece for a bit?” Sirius asked.  
Remus stayed behind. Sirius and Dora walked together, and stopped around the school garden. The sight of the place embarrassed Dora, given the scene with Deverell.  
“A Sickle for your thoughts, dear,” Sirius said.  
“Oh, its rather embarrassing, but I hexed a boy around here,” Dora said.  
“Oh? Jelly-leg jinx? Levicorpus?” Sirius asked eagerly, with a mischievous light in his dark gray eyes. Dora laughed in surprise. This certainly wasn’t how the Malfoys would have reacted….but, then, she reminded herself, they didn’t even want her to own a wand.  
“Vinculum. It wraps one in ropes, you see,” Dora said.  
“You held back, but still, an inspired choice,” Sirius said.  
“What would you have chosen?” Dora asked.  
“Well, depends on what he said to you,” Sirius said.  
“He…calls me a blood traitor. For leaving home. For going to school. For…being with Harry,” Pandora said.  
Sirius’s expression was drained of fun, became more sober. He nodded as she talked. Beside them, just off the path, giant vegetables grew on long, curling vines, and a raven landed on a round moonmelon.  
“What’s his name?” Sirius asked.  
“Deverell Eastling,” She said.  
“Eastling?” Sirius said, his voice sharp with remembrance.  
Dora nodded.  
“His father was a Death Eater. Killed by Gideon Prewett. Then they took some of ours’, of course. That’s how it went, back then,” Sirius said gravely. “Dora, look, take it from someone who’s been called a blood traitor for most of my life: its not a curse, it can’t kill.”  
“I can handle it,” she said. “And, I don’t trust Winnington either, Uncle. Should I speak of it to Harry?”  
“He’ll come to you. Be honest,” Sirius said.  
Dora nodded.  
“Tell someone, if you have any trouble. Don’t try to handle it with your wand every time, all right?” Sirius said.  
“I promise,” Dora said. The raven peered over at them, and when Dora turned her head to look over at it, it flew away.  
When Sirius and Dora rejoined the group, Hermione was saying, “Harry! What about being an Auror?”  
“I still want that. I always thought I wanted nothing more than to make sure that no one else loses all their family to dark wizards, and dark magic,” Harry said. “I owe my parents that, don’t I?”  
“Harry, no parent who truly loves a child feels that they owe them anything. Your parents wanted to watch you grow into who you chose and were destined to be. You don’t have to do anything that doesn’t feel right to you in their name. That’s not the kind of people James and Lily were,” Remus said.  
“Trust me, they’d be pleased if you wanted to be a rodeo clown, so long as you were healthy, happy, and knew that you were loved,” Sirius said.  
Remus laughed, and kissed his husband’s cheek.  
“Its true. Your happiness was all that mattered to them. They saved you so that you could live, and be happy,” Remus said.  
“Thank you. I…I always wanted to know them,” Harry said.  
“You’re the best of them, Harry,” Sirius said, and lovingly touched his face, like a father. “Lily’s wit and kindness, fire and grit…James’s optimism and ability to know the people you love so well you can forgive them anything. You’re all of that, and the things that make you who you are.”  
“Oh, the ‘right stuff’, eh?” Harry said, riffing off Winnington. His friends and family laughed, Dora taking it as a sign that Harry hadn’t been entirely taken with the Montrose scout.  
Remus opened an Egress to the village, and their party went to Merlini’s for pizza, tiramisu, gelato, meatballs covered in tart marinara sauce and hot, gooey mozzarella cheese, and butter noodles sprinkled in garden fresh ground basil and flecks of rosemary.  
“This was the best place to study, back in our day,” Sirius said. “everyone came here for O.W.L prep.”  
“It’s a pity they haven’t changed out the jukebox since then,” Remus said.  
“I like old Muggle music from the 80s-its happy,” Ginny said, and selected ‘In Your Eyes’ by Peter Gabriel.  
“Oh, this one…” Remus said mysteriously. Sirius smiled knowingly at him, and nodded as if in confirmation.  
Harry and Dora exchanged a look, trying to figure it out.  
“Is this your song?” Hermione asked.  
“Our lives have been a mixtape, darling,” Sirius said.  
Sirius reached across the table and took Remus’s hand. They stood, and Sirius gently gathered Remus into his arms. He and Remus danced slowly to the song. They looked like polar opposites, Remus in his mohair cardigan and chinos, Sirius in faded jeans, a black velvet blazer, over his shirt and waistcoat, his hands marked with dark ink tattoos…but, in each other’s arms, love shone on them like pure morning sunshine, and they looked as if they simply belonged together, and always had.  
Pandora smiled, and Harry’s jewel green eyes met her’s, full of love. They held hands.  
“Are we grossing you lot out?” Sirius asked.  
“No,” Ron said.  
Pandora wondered if he was thinking of her cousin, Draco, who was at the Manor. She took some comfort in the fact that they were both worried about him, but they hadn’t been able to speak of it with him.  
“Can we talk?” Harry asked Pandora.  
She nodded, and they went out to the patio at the back of the restaurant. Wisteria and wild roses hung on vines, shuddering over the fence that separated Merlini’s from the wand shop beside it.  
“Did you really like the game?” Harry asked.  
Pandora lit up in a smile. “I loved it! I don’t know all the particulars, mind, but I know that I had a great time!” she said.  
Harry kissed her cheek. “I’m so glad. D’you reckon your Ravenclaw friends can forgive you for cheering for Gryffindor?”  
“Well, in the interest of having something to cheer for, I had to switch sides, didn’t I? They know their reputation better than I, so they must be sensible, I should think,” Dora said.  
Harry laughed heartily. When he had settled down, he asked, “What did you think of Winnington?”  
“Well, I think it says a lot that Uncle Sirius didn’t remember anything about him personally from school,” Pandora said.  
“What do you think it says?” Harry asked.  
“Those who aren’t able to memorably project their own personality are usually quite comfortable using other people’s talents, reputations, and connections for the attention they can win no other way,” Pandora said. “I see it all the time in the Vale.”  
“So, you agree with Sirius, then? You think Winnington want publicity, or something?” Harry asked.  
“I fear that might be his aim, yes,” Dora said.  
Harry sighed. “I know, deep down, I can’t take it, no matter what the Magpies are after,” he said.  
“Remus and Sirius said all your parents wanted was your happiness. All they want is the same, I’m sure. You can consider Winnington’s offer, but for what it is. If you feel you can make something decent out of it…” Dora said.  
“No matter what he’s after, I know I can’t really take it. Not now. I don’t believe in prophecies and our lives written in the stars. I believe we make things happen. But, either way, Voldemort’s after me, and I have to face him, so no one else gets killed doing it, like my parents did. Its not fair to let other people get between us like that. He’s come after me three times now, just this month,” Harry said.  
“Three?!” Dora said. “Ginny, at Buttershaw Hall…the wolves on the edge of Hogsmeade those Death Eaters lured us to…”  
“And yesterday, after practice,” Harry said.  
Dora’s chest felt tight, but she controlled her breathing, grounding the way Fortune had taught them. Harry looked deeply into Dora’s eyes, as he told her about the Succubi.  
“My love…I hate that they used my hands to touch you, my voice to lie to you,” Dora said.  
“I hate that he knows your face, and your voice,” Harry said.  
“Professor Fortune healed you?” Dora asked.  
“I’m all right now,” Harry said. “I promise.”  
He opened his arms, and Dora nestled into his arms. She reveled in his warmth, and held him close. She wanted more than anything to keep him safe.  
“I’m fine, now, love,” he said. “But, I mean, this is why, isn’t it? I can’t be in a training camp or on a team bus with a bunch of other blokes, normal blokes who wouldn’t know what hit them if Riddle attacked. Every game I play in will be a security risk. I have to face him before I can do anything else.”  
Dora looked deep into Harry’s eyes, green like ancient jewels pulled from the depths of the earth. All she could do was nod, holding his gaze and trying to will him to understand that she knew. She had known since Neville told her about the Tri Wizard Tournament, that it was but one chapter in a story that would have to end the way these things had for millenia between wizards. No matter how many micro-issues of politics and ideology distracted them, it was just a civilization built over a fault line, two opposing forces causing friction: Light and Dark magic. Harry was the light-Dora had felt it when she picked up his wand at Buttershaw Hall. His magic felt like starlight. Voldemort was drawn to seek to swallow and snuff that light, he could not escape the gravity of their polarity any more than Harry could. Her family had always been drawn to the darkness, thrived in and perfected it, for centuries-but, Dora was different. She wanted to feel the light, warm and stroking, on her skin, to drink its taste of heat and be strengthened by it.  
“What does that mean? Where will you have to go?” Dora asked.  
“I don’t know. But, I think Dumbledore has a plan…and I think Fortune teaching me energy magic is apart of it…” Harry said. “That’s all I know, for now.”  
Dora kissed him. His lips were slightly chapped, but warm, and his mouth opened pliantly for her tongue as she deepened the kiss. His arms caressed her back, and her arms came round his neck.  
“I know it wasn’t you…but I think about it, Dora. I don’t want to get it, the Succubi, and the things they showed me…mixed up with you, and how I want you…” Harry said.  
“You know me, Harry,” Dora whispered. She put her hands over his, and led his hands over her body as she gently kissed him. “This is me, my love.”  
He nodded, looking into her eyes, his eyes bright and vulnerable. He touched her, and learned her.  
Dora looked up, into the blue sky, as Harry pressed his lips to her neck. The raven was flying overhead. The sun glinted on its wings a dark purple, like ink.

Severus felt he could live the rest of his life as the Raven. It was easier to think, that way, than when he was a Ghoul pretending to be a man. He was aware that more often than not he missed his mark and wound up looking sinister, ridiculous, or ridiculously sinister. But, it was hard to change tactics-the pounding in his head and burning feeling in his veins took precedence over social graces. It was more important that he not feast on his students’ throats than that they like him.  
And, flying was nice. He’d hated flying class in first year, the only consolation being that Lily, Remus, and Robbie did, too. But, having wings was nothing like the indignity of broomstick flight. This was natural, effortless, meditative…he could think clearly. As he flew over the village of Hogsmeade, he saw Pandora Black kissing Harry Potter, and realized with relief that he truly didn’t feel any desire for the girl. He’d been so ashamed, of how he had discomfited and bullied Pandora. He had searched himself…did he have an inappropriate attachment to her? He’d become a Hogwarts professor at just 25; he knew he had never been a handsome man, but between himself and Professor Flitwick bored 7th and 8th years weren’t spoiled for choice…despite a few overtures, some half mocking, some motivated by the pursuit of a better exam grade, others the frantic caprices of a deeply painful, slow-burning loneliness he could well understand, he had never reciprocated, and certainly never instigated. In his confused and hungry moments, he’d truly thought it was Ada whose hand he had reached for, Ada whose long, soft hair and warm shoulder grazed his arm, Ada’s smell, Ada returned to him….  
Now, he knew for sure how confused he had been. He felt nothing as he watched them kiss…except a sadness at the sight of their long, thin adolescent bodies, that so much time had passed, they were not babies anymore, and they had lived so much of their lives without mothers.  
As he’d told Regulus, there was no way he was going to kidnap Pandora while Remus and Sirius were by her side. The Raven flew until the picturesque Victorian rooftops of Hogsmeade disappeared, and the Castle was in sight. The window to the Headmaster’s office was open. Severus flew in.  
“Ah, Severus. Punctual, as always,” Dumbledore said.  
Severus turned back into a man…or whatever it was he happened to be. A wizard, a ghoul, a shapeshifter, all of it, none of it…  
“What have you found out?” Dumbledore asked.  
“Are you completely convinced that Regulus cannot see or hear you, through me?” Severus asked.  
“Regulus is a well born young man. He was raised to be courteous. Eavesdropping is beneath him,” Albus said.  
Severus grumbled wordlessly in skepticism.  
“At any rate, he is not the sort of man to peer over his servant’s shoulder when he gives him an order. He has been giving orders since he could speak, and such men rarely vary the manner in which they give orders,” Albus said. “He assumes you are about his business, and he is thinking no more of how you are accomplishing it.”  
Severus couldn’t disagree…but, Regulus hadn’t always been unkind. Rather like Robbie and Remus, there was something wounded and vulnerable inside him, that begged to be sheltered. He was so incredulous as to why anyone should like him, that he had always seemed almost cloyingly grateful to those who were his friends. It was that Regulus whom Severus had sought out at 12, Grimmauld Place after Lily, Harry, and Rose were gone…he’d needed a friend. He’d found the Vampire, instead…  
“Sit, my old friend. Tell me anything you feel I must know,” Albus said.  
“Regulus has heard that the Dark Lord is ill,” Severus said.  
“Cursed. I think he was cursed by his slaughter of the innocents. He suffers for it,” Albus said.  
“And he seeks Perrier Flamel, the Master Alchemist,” Severus said.  
“And, Regulus seeks to collect his daughter and shelter her with the Emerald Order before Flamel can reveal the Silphium is in her blood,” Dumbledore finished. “I have other plans for her. It is the Lapis I want you to prevent from falling into Riddle’s hands.”  
“The Lapis? I never knew what became of it,” Severus said.  
“Well, I do. It is in the Black family vault. It can only open for the heir of the House of Black. Over the last 20 years, that title has been bestowed upon three individuals who are still living: Regulus-but he is a dark creature; Sirius, but he was disinherited; so, the vault in the City of Temples will only open for Pandora, on whom Walburga Black bestowed her family’s fortune ad future before she died,” Albus said. “You will be there at the stroke of midnight on Pandora’s 17th birthday, and you will steal it. You will bring it to me.”  
“The Order…” Severus said. He was still an alchemist of the Emerald Order.  
“Severus, my friend…you have a vestigial loyalty to the Order of Trismegistus. They taught and nurtured you, and those were happy years. Years you shared with Ada Black. Yes, I know what you two were to each other. I think the whole school did, unfortunately-but, it was a different time, and she could not break her engagement to Regulus. But, you were there when the Order voted to create the Wand of Thoth,” Albus said. “Your attachment to them is one of nostalgia, for what you have lost.”  
“You did not vote to create the Wand,” Severus said.  
Albus nodded. “And, I resigned from the Order,” he confirmed.  
“That baffled me, and Ada. The creation of an Alchemist’s Object like the Wand of Thoth would have defeated the Dark Lord,” Severus said.  
“It would have created an arms race, of wizards of every nation holding weapons of incalculable destruction at each other’s throats, as the world pantomimes normalcy and cooperation while fear reigns, poisoning our minds with anxiety and anger,” Albus said. “I voted against that world.”  
“Regulus is convinced that only in Heliopolis will Dora receive the care she needs, after removing the Silphium. On account of Ada, he thinks, they will allow her into the Alchemists’ City,” Severus said.  
“Then, let him continue to believe what he likes. Take the stone, letting him believe that you will be taking it, and Pandora, to the City of the Phoenixes,” Albus said.  
“You will destroy something that Ada and I toiled over for years?” Severus said.  
“You keep looking for her. We all leave many echoes of our presence in the world, and in the lives of other people. More than we realize, more than we mean to do,” Albus said. “But, you cannot collect echoes and reconstruct the person you love. You cannot be kept warm by a ghost, my friend.”  
“I thought Pandora was Ada. I thought I desired her. I despised myself. I was unkind to her,” Severus confessed.  
Albus said nothing.  
“How you must despise me,” Severus said. “After all, you did fire me.”  
“Consider it a sabbatical. When your work on the matter of Regulus Black is complete, you may return, as you have always done,” Albus said.  
This had been his life, for nearly twenty years, serving Regulus and Albus in turn.


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Writing lifts my spirits:) This chapter is rather fluffy-just Harry and his family, at the cottage and at Orchard Grange. It makes me smile imagining Dora seeing a movie for the first time, warm in Harry's arms:)

After Merlini’s, Ron, Ginny, and Hermione climbed through an Egress opened by Sirius, back up to the castle.  
“So, I take it you two talked about Winnington,” Sirius said to Harry, as Remus, Lucy, and Dora waved bye to Ginny, Ron, and Hermione.  
“Dora got the same read on him as you,” Harry said.  
“Well, Dora’s a smart girl. Played Snivellus like a fiddle to get to Hogwarts, didn’t she? I’ll tell you what I’ve picked up on about my niece: she’s a Slytherin through and through-that’s why she’s in Ravenclaw,” Sirius said.  
“Huh?” Harry asked.  
“Think about it. She’s too smart to run with that lot while all of this ‘Hail, Voldemort’ tosh is stirring up again. She’s lying low. That’s a smart one. You’ll want to hold onto her,” Sirius said.  
Harry had detected this, too: Dora had a way of weighing the odds of a situation. When waiting was advantageous, she waited; when it was the moment to strike, she hit hard and hit her mark.  
“I’ll never let her go, unless that’s what would be safer for her,” Harry said. Sirius put a hand on his shoulder.  
Lucy, Dora, and Remus rejoined them where they stood outside the bookshop where Harry and Dora had first spoken to each other. The Gilderoy Lockhart cutout was still smiling from the window, from the signing the day before. That was before the attack on the Goblin Market.  
“It’s a shame we can’t see the Faeries!” Lucy said.  
“They’ll be lying low, regrouping, for a bit. The market may return to where it always was, or perhaps it will grace a different wizarding community. There’s Glastonbury,” Remus said.  
“A bit touristy out there these days, love-and the Muggles that way are too keen to see a faerie,” Sirius said.  
“Everyone is continuing on as always, as if nothing happened!” Pandora said, referencing the witches and wizards milling about the high street, doing their Saturday shopping as if their neighbors, the Rustic Faer, had not been all but run out of the village.  
“Oh, they’ll feel it. A priest during WWII said he didn’t speak up for the Jews, for he wasn’t a Jew, nor did he speak up for the Communists, for he wasn’t a Communist, either. But, when they, the Nazis, came for him, there was no one left to speak up for him-everyone had been taken,” Sirius said.  
Harry, Pandora, and Lucy looked between him and Remus for an explanation.  
“The Faer are only the first to be targeted, but all groups that the Death Eaters find undesirable will be visited with the same hatred, in turn. If we realize that we are all being threatened, we could all come together,” Remus said. “If we do not…there will be no one left.”  
A group of girls in Vale dress-spencer jackets, gowns that trailed the cobblestones, and satin or velvet bonnets- passed by on the opposite end of the street, openly leering at Pandora.  
“Ugh, that’s Rosaline Wilcox. Slag. She’s in my year, but she’s dating Deverell Eastling. She’s a vicious gossip,” Lucy said.  
“Cressie says all that lot are-and that everyone calls them the Bonnet Squad,” Dora said. “Who knows what stories they’ll have to tell on Monday?”  
“Oh, just that Pandora Black was walking on the high street with her uncle, the traitorous molly, and that Potter boy, with the untidy hair and shifty looks,” Sirius said.  
“And her crossdressing cousin!” Lucy piped up.  
“And, an unregistered werewolf,” Remus added quietly.  
Harry, Sirius, Dora, Lucy, and Remus laughed.  
“Look, don’t worry about those girls, or the Faer, any of it. We only break ourselves down when we take the world on our back. Remus and I have a surprise for you girls, when we get home,” Sirius said.  
“We’re parked around this way,” Remus said.  
“You took the car?” Harry asked.  
“But, we took an Egress,” Pandora said.  
“What? They aren’t teaching you kids how to summon objects interdimensionally, up there at the castle? What’s an education worth, these days?” Sirius said.  
Remus said, “We thought the girls would enjoy a ride. We’re going to take a long, bumpy road,” he said.  
“Yay!” Lucy said.  
Lucy, Dora, and Harry got into the backseat of a small car with faded paint that looked about ten years, or slightly more, old. Sirius sat in the passenger seat, and Remus drove. The car started. Harry relished the surprised and delighted look on Dora’s face as the car started and they started to move, the cobblestone lane bumpy under the rolling wheels. The shop windows rolled by, and the faces of the witches and wizards on the street, some who looked a little scandalized.  
Harry caught Dora’s eye and smiled at her-they were going home.  
They left the village behind, and were driving on a dirt lane bordered by wild, waving meadows, and beyond them a forest of slender oaks.  
“So, how’s Orchard Grange shaping up?” Harry asked.  
“Well, the wolves are settled in the cottages, and the house itself is nearly ready to be inhabited. Robbie’s helping us with some refurbishment charms, to rather air the place out,” Remus said.  
“Quite indispensable isn’t he, Professor Fortune?” Pandora asked.  
“He’s well-travelled, and learned. And, he’s a good egg. The thing is, Robbie has a specialty that’s considered Dark Magic, which raises some hackles in Wizarding company. People assume he’s Dark, because of it,” Remus said.  
“What’s that?” Harry asked.  
“Necromancy,” Sirius said. “He can speak to the dead. It’s a natural gift. Some people have rare gifts like that. I’ve got a cousin who’s a Metamorphmagus, for instance. And Harry, your invisibility.”  
“So, that’s why he’s been working in America, banishing spirits,” Harry said. “He told me a bit about that.”  
“I imagine the Americans are more tolerant about that sort of thing,” Lucy said.  
“Yes, in Britain, the ghosts are too obstinate to be banished. They come with the house, and that’s that,” Sirius said.  
They reached the cottage where Harry had lived with Remus and Sirius since they took him in, with its generously shading oak and apple trees, and the roses Remus had planted. They parked the car, and as soon as the motor had purred to quiet, Lucy said,  
“May I drive it? One day?”  
“We can practice during the summer, but you’ll have to get a Muggle license to drive,” Remus said.  
“She’s Pureblood, Moony. Old-school Pureblood-no birth certificate, remember?” Sirius said.  
“Good thing I’m married to the Order of the Phoenix’s master forger,” Remus said.  
“Uncle, that’s what you did during the war? You forged things?” Pandora asked.  
“Well, there were a lot of travel restrictions, back then, about going in and out of realms. People wanting to get to the Faerie Countries or the Wizards’ home country could come to the Molly House and see me and Uncle Al about it, we’d set them up. It required a great deal of acting on our part-we had to look neutral, as if we didn’t give a two-penny toss about politics either way, so that we could operate right under the Death Eaters’ noses. Just a harmless cabaret…” Sirius said.  
“You must have saved a lot of people,” Lucy said.  
“Not enough, my love. Not nearly enough,” Sirius said. “well, come round back, we’ll have a look at the Zen garden.”  
Harry led the girls to the Zen garden. Plum, cherry, and magnolia trees in blossom inclined towards the water of the reflecting pool. Pandora closed her eyes in pleasure, relishing the peace of the space.  
“Its beautiful,” Pandora said.  
There was a wooden deck wrapped around the back of the cottage, and a windbreak on the side of the deck of bamboo and hibiscus.  
“How do you get hibiscus to grow in Scotland?” Pandora asked.  
“A bit of earth magic,” Remus answered.  
“So, what’s the surprise?” Lucy asked.  
“Lucy, this is a reflection space,” Pandora said. She and Harry sat on ornamental rocks at the water’s edge.  
“So?” Lucy countered.  
“So, hold your horses!” Pandora said.  
Sirius and Remus laughed fondly at the girls’ sisterly squabble.  
“We usually come out here to meditate, cool our heads if things are getting…tense. I have to come out here a lot,” Harry said ruefully.  
“You have a hot nature. Its part of your Light Magic. People underestimate Light Magic, but everything has two sides. Light magic can burn quite hot,” Pandora asked.  
“So, Light Magic has an aggressive side. Has Dark Magic got any good sides?” Harry asked.  
“Well…it can be a remarkably effective tool to defend oneself. And, is preserving life not good?” Pandora asked.  
“I guess that makes sense,” Harry said.  
“Its all about balance. Knowing the potentials, good and bad, of both sides, and remaining balanced in the middle,” Dora said.  
“Well said, love,” Sirius said. “We’ve all got light and dark in us. Not just magically, but in our minds, our hearts, our souls. But, we’ve got a choice.”  
“Indeed,” Remus said. “Self-knowledge and self control go a long way.”  
“Girls, let’s pick your rooms,” Sirius said, and they all went inside.  
“I’ll help Dora with her things,” Harry said quickly.  
Sirius and Remus looked at each other, deciding, and Remus said, “There was a package of Faerie objects. They could be quite heavy. It’s on the kitchen table.”  
Harry picked up the parcel of Faerie glass and crystals they had purchased before the attack, and he and Dora headed upstairs.  
Dora selected a guest room with sky blue walls, and a white dresser and wardrobe. They arranged the glass and crystal on the dresser. Dora had chosen one of the auroras saved in glass, and Harry and Dora sat on the bed and watched the colors of the aurora dance on the light blue walls.  
“I love you, Harry,” Dora said.  
“I love you,” he said. “Do you still feel the chord?”  
“Yes. Here,” she said, and put her hand to her chest.  
“Here,” Harry said, and put her free hand over his wrist.  
They looked into each other’s eyes, letting their inhales and exhales slowly unfold as the colors on the wall danced.  
“Its time for the surprise!” Lucy said, sticking her head in the room.  
Dora and Harry went downstairs behind her. Remus and Sirius were in the living room.  
“I thought you girls would like to see a film,” Sirius said.  
“A movie?!” Lucy said, incredulous with excitement.  
“Uncle…thank you!” Pandora said.  
“We have loads of movies. That shelf over there? They’re all movies, saved on discs called DVD. You put them in a machine, that connects to the television. You can watch them any time you like,” Sirius said.  
“Which film is this?” Lucy asked.  
“ ‘The Princess Bride’,” Remus said. “Its sort of a fairy tale. Very adventurous, and fun…and romantic, as well, but not too...saccharine. We hope you girls enjoy it.”  
“When Muggles watch movies in theatres, they eat popcorn. We must have popcorn,” Lucy said.  
Remus and Sirius laughed. “That can be arranged,” Sirius said, and transfigured some wax fruit into buckets of popcorn for each of the kids, while Remus loaded the DVD in the DVD player.  
Everyone settled on the couches, as the movie began. Dora snuggled into Harry, and he put his arm around her. He tried not to think of Succubi, Light and Dark magic, or Winnington’s offer to play for the Magpies as the movie began.  
“So, the book that the grandfather is reading the little boy, is the story that we are being told?” Dora whispered.  
“That’s right,” Harry said. As the story of Buttercup and Wesley unfolded, Dora was enchanted. She gasped, she laughed, she loathed Prince Humperdink. Harry could tell that she had fallen in love with the film, with films themselves.  
Lucy watched the swordfight between Wesley and Inigo most enraptly, her eyes darting between them like the spectator of a tennis match.  
When the film was over, they clapped.  
“Delightful! Let’s watch another!” Lucy said.  
“ ‘Citizen Kane’?” Remus said.  
“I think not,” Sirius said.  
“ ‘Star Wars’?” Harry suggested.  
“Well, that one’s not too long. When it’s over, we’ll start dinner,” Remus said.  
Harry helped Remus make dinner, a honey glazed brisket with glazed onions, butternut squash soup, and a spring mix salad with a drizzle of olive oil and garlic powder. The girls happily chattered about the movies, and had a million questions about how movies were made. Remus took the lead in answering, and explained that his mother was once an actress.  
“Do we have time for another movie, before bed?” Lucy asked.  
“How about ‘The Wizard of Oz’?” Sirius asked.  
“The wizard…of Oz? Where is Oz? There are movies about wizards?” Pandora asked.  
“Well, its sort of about a Muggle who pretends to be a Wizard. But, mostly, its about a girl called Dorothy trying to find her way home,” Remus said.  
Remus showed Lucy and Dora how to work the DVD player, as Harry did the dishes.  
“Harry, I hate to be indelicate, and I’m not accusing you of anything, but…I need you and Dora to stay in your own rooms, tonight. No sharing a bed on the weekends, all right?” Sirius said.  
“No, of course not!” Harry said quickly.  
Sirius raised a skeptical eyebrow.  
“I mean, of course I want to, but…” Harry said, and tried to find the words.  
He didn’t have an encyclopedic mind of ready facts like Hermione, or eloquent words, like Pandora…but he wanted to find a word to capture how he had felt at Orchard Grange, that he wanted to have a happy wedding day like his parents in their picture, live at the Grange with Dora, and see her name written on a leaf on the Potter family tapestry. It had felt so right, these dreams, when they were there.  
“I respect Dora. I love her. And, she’s been through a lot,” Harry said.  
“I know you’d never take advantage. I thought I’d be remiss if I didn’t say something,” Sirius said.  
“Thanks, Sirius,” Harry said, and his godfather kissed the top of his head.  
“You’re a good boy, Harry. You have a kind heart. You’ve always been so full of love,” Sirius said. “Love Dora. You have my blessing to love her. But, take it easy. You both need to figure out a lot of things, right now.”  
Harry nodded.  
They all watched the movie, and Dora stared at the screen as if recognizing apart of herself in Judy Garland’s longing voice as she sang ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’. Harry thought of the first time he had seen the film, at the orphanage. He never could have imagined that he would one day be watching this movie with a beautiful girl in his arms, surrounded by family and love.  
When it was time for bed, Harry told Dora, “I wish I could fall asleep beside you.”  
“Why ever not? Come to my room,” Dora said.  
“I can’t,” Harry said. “I want to give you time. And, I think I need it, too, after the Succubi.”  
Dora kissed Harry’s cheek, and then headed to her room. She came out again and handed him her aurora in glass.  
“If you can’t sleep tonight…at least you’ll wake up to the light,” Pandora said.  
Harry accepted the Faerie glass with a warm, grateful smile. 

On Sunday morning, they had fresh baked madeleines and scones with a choice of Devonshire cream or nymphberry jam, slices of juicy moonmelon, and Earl Gray tea, milk and sugar if they wanted it.  
“How would you like to see Orchard Grange?” Sirius asked.  
Harry’s eyes widened in surprise.  
“Yeah!” he said.  
“Wonderful. Get your shoes on. We’ll do the dishes when we come home,” Sirius said.  
“Can we take the car?” Lucy suggested quickly.  
“The Grange is a Warded land granted by the Faer. There’s no path to it on earth, really. The heir to the Potter family blessing can find it or be found by it, and invite others, but it would be difficult to drive there,” Remus said.  
“Oh,” Lucy said, crestfallen.  
“You can have a very short driving lesson on a back road next weekend. How’s that?” Sirius asked.  
Lucy smiled brightly, nodding.  
Sirius opened an Egress, and they all stepped through.  
Harry looked around. This was the place he had dreamed of, the sunshine on the white blossoms of the orchard, the ancient oaks languidly waving, the 16th century manor standing on its green prominence, stately but welcoming, a place that rang of happy memories.  
“Um, the last time I was here, we opened the door with a spell…” Harry said.  
“I still have my key. I knew after Fleamont died, since James was gone too, and you were missing, that the house would disappear…but I couldn’t give up the key. It meant a lot to me. It meant that at least once, a family of wizards had trusted and opened their homes to me. It’s helped me keep my self respect, over the years. And, I hoped that one day, we would find you, Harry,” Remus said.  
Remus met Harry’s eyes, and they held each other’s gaze meaningfully, as Remus handed him the key.  
Harry’s hand shook slightly as he opened the door. The portrait of Ianthe Potter was the first thing he saw. It said nothing, but nodded to him, looking into his eyes. Their eyes were the same shape, and the same shade of green.  
Now, he knew what Orchard Grange was, that it belonged to his family, and when he looked around, he felt at home. Harry, Dora, and Lucy looked into the rooms of the Grange, which were tastefully but comfortably decorated. Every window also boasted a soothing view of the grounds, of the orchard, the river, a verdant park, or the edge of the greenwood. The garden was wild, and needed a bit of earth magic to uncover its beds and lanes, to call back the bushes and vines that had gone to seed.  
“Did you live here when you were a baby?” Lucy asked.  
“I…don’t know, actually,” Harry said, sadly. “I don’t even know how I ended up in a Muggle orphanage-if you could even call what the Dursleys kept an orphanage. I don’t know what happened after my parents died.”  
“Maybe one of the people involved had a change of heart, and decided to hide you amongst Muggles, where you would never be found, instead of hurting a baby. They must not have been able to bring themselves to do it,” Lucy said.  
“I don’t know, Lucilla. I don’t know if Death Eaters have such qualms,” Pandora said.  
“Father was a Death Eater…and he isn’t all bad,” Lucy said.

Lucy said so with a catch in her voice, a slight question at the end, as if she needed someone to chime in and confirm for her that, no, Lucius Malfoy wasn’t all bad. Dora didn’t know what to say. She had long accustomed her mind to cudgel her thoughts before she even thought anything that was ungrateful towards her guardians…but, now she had seen and knew more.  
“All’s well that ends well. I’ve got Sirius, and Remus, and you, and Dora. And, we’re home. How would you like moving here, Luce? Sirius reckons that if there is to be war, this is the safest place for you and Dora,” Harry said.  
“Really? Your house? You offer us your house?” Lucy said.  
“Sure. We have about eight more Star Wars films to watch, after all,” Harry said.  
“Thank you, Harry! Can my mother come here, too? And Draco?” Lucy said.  
“Well…sure. If that’s what they want,” Harry said.  
“Let’s see the grounds! Let’s see the greenwood, where the wolves will run! Let’s hike out to the cottages, and meet the wolves!” Lucy said.  
“Slow down, Lucy. We have time,” Dora said.  
Harry had a funny, but not unwelcome feeling, like a premonition. It felt, for a minute, that Lucy was their child, he and Dora her parents, and he felt grounded by Dora’s calm, firm direction. They passed Remus and Sirius in the library, having a chat in low voices, as they headed outside. Dora, Harry, and Lucy explored meadows and forests, the orchard, and the hidden springs and small waterfalls that poured and wound through the woods. The air was fresh, and smelled like racing water, shadowcasting trees, the green smell of life, and apple blossoms on the wind.


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius reveals a devastating secret; Harry turns to Dora; Voldemort tempts Harry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Words can't express how full my heart is right now, and how much I want to tell the world. This story gives me a language to speak. I hope you enjoy! The end was fun to write-it felt very Luke Skywalker vs. Darth Vader, lol:)

Orchard Grange was a paradise. Lucy, Dora, and Harry spent most of the day outside ,quickly finding their favorite meadows in which to stroll and have a meaningful, free talk, trees meant for climbing, for reading under, for sitting in on a low branch, and creeks and brooks in which to swim, wade, or merely stand at the shore and watch the water. They headed in only when a light rain began.   
“This is where you came, when you ran away?” Harry asked, when they were back at the Grange.   
Sirius nodded. They were in the library, where Remus had told Harry that Harry’s grandfather often spent his time.  
“Why not your uncle Al’s?” Harry asked.  
“I went to Al’s for a good time. I needed more. I needed to talk to your dad. I needed to really tell someone everything,” Sirius said. “Your grandparents went above and beyond. They let me put up here until me and Remus got a place in Muggle London, when we were 19.”  
“What were they like?” Harry asked.  
“Your grandfather was a wise man. He’d travelled far and wide with the Coven Army. But, he had a real sense of fun, too. Easy to be around. Your grandmother-she was a woman made of steel, encased in silk,” Sirius said.  
Harry laughed. “Sounds like Dora,” he said.  
Sirius smiled knowingly in agreement, and said, “They’d lived through the Dragon Wars in the Wizards’ home country, Vinland, and they had no time for foolishness-but, they gave people chances, and nurtured them. Family was everything to them. They adored your father, and when you were born this house was so, so merry.”  
Harry smiled. “I want this house to be happy again, Sirius.”  
“It already is. The girls love it here, can’t you tell?” his godfather said. “And, it’s a good thing. With the Faerie wards rendering it all but unplottable, untraceable, impossible to penetrate without being welcomed by the Potter heir-you-this is the perfect place to conceal them.”  
“So, its true…Voldemort wants Dora?” Harry said.  
“What have you found out?” Sirius asked.   
“What has Dumbledore told you?” Harry asked.  
“Cheeky-I asked first,” Sirius said.  
“Well, Dora’s mum had this copy of an old Alchemy text, the Tabula Smaragdina. Snape gave it to her in the Vale; Dora and Hermione noticed that some of Mrs. Black’s notes were in Cypher, a secret code. Hermione cracked it, and…it turns out that Mrs. Black, your brother, Dora’s father, and Snape all did this alchemical experiment with silphium to save Dora’s life when she was a baby. Trouble is, silphium’s meant to be extinct. Looks like a bloke called Flamel helped them get hold of it, somewhere called Heliopolis,” Harry said.  
Sirius looked stunned. “That’s quite a bit. Well done!”  
“Thanks,” Harry said. “Now, you.”  
“Nothing gets by you, eh? Well, I can’t tell you all of it, and before you get your nose out of joint, Dumbledore’s not told me all of it, either,” Sirius said. “I can tell you who Flamel is, though. Perrier Flamel. He was the Presbyter Maximus of the Order of Trismegistus, and an old friend of my father’s. He was Reggie’s mentor in Alchemy, one of the few adults who showed any confidence in my brother and nurtured his talents in science. He admitted him to train in the Order, and gave him the Attunement.”  
Cressie and Dora had mentioned that, the energy transfer ceremony between Master and Apprentice.  
“Well, from what we worked out from Mrs. Black’s notes, she and Regulus sent Snape on a journey to meet Flamel in Heliopolis, collect the silphium, and learn what he could about the procedure they were going to do on Dora,” Harry said.  
Sirius nodded. “That makes sense. I told you, Snape was my brother’s friend, but he envied him, too, and he was in love with Ada. He stuck close to both of them, all the better to covet everything that was my brother’s, up close and personal. I’m sure he thought in his twisted little brain that if he took the lead in saving Dora’s life, Ada would finally wise up, see who was most loyal to her, and throw Reggie over for him,” he said.  
“Some of the notes were missing, though,” Harry said.  
“Alchemists are secretive,” Sirius said.   
“What became of Flamel?” Harry asked.  
“The Emerald Order’s elders were voted out, the Order restructured. Several of them have been keeping such a low profile since the war ended, you could almost say they’re missing: Hypatia Orellana, for one, and Flamel, for another,” Sirius said.   
“The bloke that helped your brother, his wife, and Snape, gave them the silphium, is missing…and several of the Order have been, too, for years?” Harry said.  
Sirius nodded. “Yup. Just about the only Alchemists who used to be elders in the Order who are still active in public life are Dumbledore, and Professor Sinistra, the head of Ravenclaw House,” he said.  
“Dora told me once that Dumbledore achieved the Lapis, the Philosopher’s Stone,” Harry said.  
“Yeah, he used it treat an outbreak of Merlin’s Bane,” Sirius said. “From what I understand, a Philosopher’s Stone is created so that you can create other things with it. It can be distilled to make elixirs, or it can channel energy into things. Yes, Dumbledore was one of the Order’s Presbyters, but he stepped down. No one ever knew what had happened, in the Order, to force out so many elders. But, institutions have their internecine shakeups, don’t they?”  
“Not over nothing,” Harry said.   
“No-but Alchemists don’t reveal those kinds of things to us mundane wizards,” Sirius said wryly.  
“If Voldemort wanted an Alchemist, do you think anyone who was forced out of the Emerald Order would work for him?” Harry said.  
“They were politically neutral…but, we all have a personal ideology, and certainly anyone who left would be a free agent, now. More likely, he would force them, if he could, to comply,” Sirius said.  
“And if he got his hands on Perrier Flamel, he could make him tell about the silphium. It regenerates things, doesn’t it?” Harry said.   
“Gives things life, regenerates them, in a wizard alchemist’s hands. Even the Muggles had miracles with it,” Sirius said. “Maybe those miracles were a bit too profound, actually, and that’s why the Order hid it from Muggle use for so long.”  
“Wonder what Voldemort wants with it?” Harry said.  
“I don’t want you going too far, trying to think as he thinks, but I will say this: people will go to extreme lengths not to seem, be, or feel vulnerable if they think vulnerability of any kind will annihilate them in the end. That’s what fascism is: turning to isolationist, xenophobic measures to intimidate or purge those outside of your tribe, your nation, whatever. People turn to it when they feel like weakness from the inside is a threat to them. All Voldemort does is to make himself strong, to the detriment and terror of others, and he draws those who want the same,” Sirius said.   
“What about Snape? Do you think he’s gone back to Voldemort?” Harry asked.  
Sirius’s expression turned dark. He said gravely, “I wouldn’t put anything past him.”  
“Because of Regulus?” Harry asked.  
“Let’s just say…I don’t think there’s anyone he wouldn’t sell out to Voldemort, if he came calling,” Sirius said. “The man is a consummate servant, if nothing else. Riddle’s the only person he’s loyal to.”  
“What makes you say that?” Harry asked.   
He wasn’t surprised of this estimation of Snape, particularly not from Sirius, whose brother Snape had enticed into being a Death Eater…along with coveting his wife and aiding his mad endeavors in resurrecting the dead, presumably to continue living off the largess of Regulus Black’s considerable inheritance. This tallied with the relationship he formed in later years with the Malfoys, displacing Mrs. Weasley as Madam Malfoy’s caregiver-once again, he was the well paid servant of a wealthy Pureblood family. Perhaps, as Ron had suggested about his taking on of extra work, he needed the cash for the Slytherin Coven tithes. But, something about Sirius’s tone suggested a sin worse than avarice and cunning, maybe an act during wartime.   
Sirius hesitated. It was one of the rare instances in which he had not readily answered Harry’s questions. He was usually forthcoming and open.  
“Lily loved this place,” he told Harry. “She started coming up here in our sixth year.”  
“You always say her and Dad didn’t get along at first-what changed her mind about him?” Harry asked.  
“She saw a different side of him when he was out of school, recovering. McGonagall assigned her to tutor him, so he didn’t fall behind,” Sirius said.  
“Was he…ill?” Harry asked.  
“He was hexed. A hex I’d never seen before, and believe you me, my mother had some creative punishments. Me and Snivellus were in a row. He didn’t like me hanging around Robbie,” Sirius said, and Harry cut across him, saying,  
“Professor Fortune?”   
“Yeah,” Sirius said. “Robbie wasn’t like other Slytherins. He liked Muggle music. We were both mad for punk rock, started a band, just three chords and a lot of screaming. And, we messed about, you know, just kissing and trying to figure ourselves out. Snape didn’t like Robbie having other friends-wanted him to stay his shy little sidekick. But as they got older, Robbie broke away. Anyway, when Robbie ran away from school, Snivellus figured I had something to do with it, and started a scene in the corridors.”  
“Why did Fortune run away from home?” Harry asked.  
“His father was a drunk and a gambler, who blamed him for his mum dying when Robbie was born, and at school…well, as I said, he was different. He wasn’t in that wannabe Death Eater lot, but he was a smart one, so I think they wanted him. He got sick of all of it, skived off to London to make it as a musician. And, he did all right,” Sirius said. “Anyway, Jamie tried to get in between us, make peace, and the hex meant for me hit him. It tore his skin like a whip, like knives. There was so much blood…he hit the floor unconscious, cold, pale, bleeding. Snivellus did the counterhex, closed the wounds, but in my book that only proves that he knew bloody well what that hex did. He said otherwise to Dumbledore, of course, and somehow didn’t get expelled. Lily was furious.”  
“They were friends, from the same town in Yorkshire,” Harry said.  
“And that went a long way with Lil. She used to tell me if I only knew what he had to put up with at home…Well, we’ve all got something, haven’t we? We don’t all come out of it Death Eaters, do we? But, that was Lily. She was a tough cookie, and no fool, but she was also a natural caregiver. She could never stop seeing him as a little boy who needed a friend-until what he did to Jamie. It opened her eyes, and she saw Jamie in a new light. They became friends. Then, they became more. They had the wedding here.”  
“On Valentine’s Day,” Harry said.  
Sirius smiled, his eyes warm but sad with remembrance. “That’s right,” he said. “Early spring, that year. Well, your grandmother helped things a long with a bit of earth magic. There were primroses and daffodils in bloom…it was magic. They were happy. And, then they had you-and you made us all happy from the day you were born, Harry. When we got word that Voldemort thought this prophecy about the boys born on Phoenix Consurgens was something to take seriously, your mum and dad went into hiding.”  
“Sirius, I know all this…” Harry said, reluctant to discuss his parents’ death. He just wanted to be happy. He didn’t want anything to taint the welcome and happiness he felt at Orchard Grange.  
“No! You don’t know all of it. I’ve held my peace, because Dumbledore insisted that this was a different world, we had to put these sorts of things aside…but, we don’t know what Voldemort’s after, now, and who all is apart of it. You have to know about Snape,” Sirius said.  
Harry settled in, to listen.   
“Lily and James hid with you. Here, at first, the obvious place…but, then your grandparents came down with Dragon Pox. There was no cure, yet-it was some months before Ada came out with her big discovery. So, it wasn’t safe for you, its especially fatal to the elderly, and the young,” Sirius said. “So, Dumbledore arranged a safe place for you all. You were found.”  
“I know what happened next,” Harry said.   
Everyone did-all of Wizardom. It was the reason that people sent teary fanmail to Hogwarts, telling him how he inspired them, when he didn’t think he had done anything special, ever, in his life, and offers to endorse everything from toys to chewing gum came to the post office addressed to him, why people stared at him, why newspapers wrote about him…because, he had been thought dead, and been found. Something as frail as a baby had survived those hard, dark years, and that gave people hope and closure, or at least piqued their interest.   
“No, Harry. So long as Snape was your teacher, and Dumbledore wanted us to set aside the past, we couldn’t tell you all of it,” Sirius said. “Death Eaters came to your safehouse. They killed your father. My brother. My best friend. He died giving you and your mum a chance to run away. And, that’s what she did. She ran with you.”  
“What?” Harry asked. His throat felt dry, and a trapdoor opened in his stomach.   
“She ran. She was missing for a long time, Harry, and it tortured us, not knowing either way what became of you two. We looked…God, we looked,” Sirius said.  
“I believe you, Sirius,” Harry said. “I never knew that Mum lived…and ran with me…”  
Sirius nodded vehemently. “She was one Hell of a woman, Lily. Harry, I wish I could give you a sense of her. For a long time, we didn’t know what happened. Then, she turned up at Uncle Al’s, wanting me to help her get out of Britain. To America,” Sirius said.  
“Where had she been?” Harry asked.  
“Exactly what I wanted to know. She ran with you, that night, and Apparated to a friend’s house. Snape. He had been spying for Dumbledore-he was the one that passed along the information that led to us learning about the Phoenix Consurgens prophecy. Fed it to my brother, who alerted me,” Sirius said. “He swore up and down that he was done with Riddle, if Riddle was after your mum and her family. Dumbledore believed him. Lily believed him,” Sirius said. “she told me she was in a bad way, after your dad died. Severely depressed, not herself. She had trusted Snape, but she didn’t anymore, and she needed out-her, and her children.”  
“Children?” Harry said.  
“You…and your sister, Rose,” Sirius said.  
He saw the hazy figure of his mother in his memory, a blur except for the blaze of her red hair, saying, ‘Be a big boy for Rosie…’, as he had remembered her the day before when he looked at Ginny Weasley’s red hair. The rain was coming down harder, a sudden and heavy shower that signified spring was beginning in earnest. The rain poured, filling Harry’s mind. He couldn’t form a solid thought, as his mind wrestled with what he was hearing: his mother had lived after his father, she had run away with him…but, to her childhood friend, a Death Eater…he had a sister…  
“Rosie,” Harry said. “She told me to be a big boy, look after Rosie. She was afraid…”  
“You remember Lily? You never told me…” Sirius said.  
“I just remembered. Ginny’s hair…” Harry said.  
Sirius nodded. “Sometimes a buried memory comes up, when its triggered like that,” he said. “A sound or a sight can do it.”  
“I had a sister, called Rose,” Harry said.  
“You have to understand your mother’s position, Harry. A pregnant widow, a wanted woman…she wasn’t herself, either, and Snape was claiming to have switched sides. She hid with him, pretending to be a Squib he was tupping in the Vale while he worked as Tiberius Malfoy, Lucius’s father’s, personal physician. She trusted him…but when she was strong again she came to see me in Londinium. I gave her everything she needed to get you and Rose to America, and she hid with a pack Remus knows in the San Juan Islands, off the coast of Washington State,” Sirius said.  
“She got away!” Harry said, relieved.   
Sirius smiled. “I told you, Lily was one Hell of a woman. Susanna Whiteraven, one of the healers of the tribe, kept us-me and Remus-informed about how you all were doing. Lily had warded your house and the forests around it, and was accepted and adored by the wolves, the Raven Wolf tribe,” he said. “She seemed to be happy, living in a small little cabin just off the beach, with you and Rose.”  
“What happened, Sirius? What happened to my mum, and Rosie?” he asked.  
“Harry…” he said, with sad gray eyes.  
Harry’s hands tingled, and his chest felt as if it was being squeezed. Something had gone wrong that day, that dim memory that had resurfaced, of his mother telling him to be a big boy, for his little sister.  
“Death Eaters found them,” Sirius said.   
“Snape. He tracked my mum, and led them right to her, didn’t he?” Harry said.  
“I…always believed so. How else…who else would have pursued her as aggressively…? Maybe it was personal for him, maybe he just wanted to have the glory of handing you over to Riddle…but, he didn’t get his wish. Your mum was killed, and you disappeared, again,” Sirius said.  
“Why? Why would Dumbledore hire him at Hogwarts? Let him around kids? Let him around me? Tell you to forgive him?” Harry demanded.  
“Harry? You think I haven’t asked? Dumbledore insisted that he trusted him. Obviously, even Dumbledore can be wrong. He’s seen the light, now. But, we don’t know who Snape’s master is, now. He has a nasty habit of obsessing over women who want nothing to do with him-my sister in law, my best friend’s wife, and now, my niece,” Sirius said. “Combine that with this silphium business, and his loyalty to Voldemort…”  
Sirius didn’t have to finish. Dora was in danger, that much Harry knew. His head was pounding with noisy blood…he thought of all the times Snape had sardonically mocked his schoolwork, unfairly disciplined him with relish…and he realized he had hated him with a schoolboy’s hatred. This was different. He had never been more angry in his life, and it wasn’t hot and wild, it was cold and precise. It made him feel as if there had never been a better solution to any problem than to tear to pieces everything that stood between him and Severus Snape, and then to rid the world of him. It also made him feel sick. Harry felt like he was dying of this icy, poisonous hatred, growing ill with the need to hurt the man who was just as responsible as Voldemort for the loss of his family. His mother had turned to a friend to protect her and her children, and been rewarded with betrayal…his sister….what had become of Rose? They couldn’t have Dora, they wouldn’t take her as they had taken his sister and mother….  
“Harry,” Sirius said, and put his hand on Harry’s shoulders. “Talk to me, son.”  
He looked at Sirius. At the word ‘son’ the palace of ice the anger was building began to tumble like a breaking glacier.   
“Sirius…where’s my sister?” Harry asked.  
Sirius looked defeated, and said, “Harry, I don’t know.”  
Harry held onto the sill of the library window, trying not to shake. Sirius gently gathered Harry into his arms, and held him. The anger crumbled into something else, an emotion made of the flailing lack of knowledge of what to do, and the lack of words to describe what he was feeling or wanted to say. Harry merely wept, instead. 

The rain continued to come down, all night. When Harry had settled down, he, Sirius, Remus, Dora, and Lucy Egressed back to the cottage for dinner-quiche Florentine and baked asparagus, with Black Forest cake for dessert. The girls wanted to watch another film, and Remus chose “Rebecca.” Dora was delighted to find out that it was a novel.  
Harry held Dora in his arms on the couch, and shared glances and smiles from her, but he felt apart from her. He felt a distant warmth through their red chord connection, which assured him that she was happy and having fun, content and suspected nothing. But, he was changed. He felt cold again. He felt far away.   
When it was time to go up to bed, Dora took his hand. They stood in between the doors to his room and her’s.  
“Harry, please, talk to me?” Dora said. “You aren’t happy. Tell me why?”  
“Dora….” He said, sighing, unable to lie, unable to tell the truth.  
“My love,” she said.  
Harry didn’t want to break, not in front of her, not in Dora’s arms. That, he told himself, wouldn’t be of any use to anyone…but, he wanted to let everything go, and there was no one he needed more. He kissed her, holding her close, kissing her with a desperation that must have surely passed for passion…or, one was transmuted into the other, in the alchemy of each second that they embraced and kissed. Dora began to back into Harry’s room, her softly coaxing hands guiding him to follow her. Harry followed her, still kissing and caressing her, as they walked entered the room with the light blue walls, the aurora trapped in faerie glass throwing pulsing light of many colors onto the walls, onto their skin, as they kissed. Dora closed the door. Harry led her as if in a dance, and with his hands caressing her hips he moved her against the closed door.   
“Bruise me. Please. All over,” Harry gasped, as she kissed his neck.   
Dora’s hands sailed under his tshirt, and Harry held his hands over his head, helping her to pull it off. Dora kissed, sucked, lightly bit the creamy flesh of Harry’s chest and stomach. When she ended up on her knees, kissing ardently at his stomach, Harry reached for her hands, and coaxed her back to her feet. It was too much like the Succubus who had impersonated her…it made him unbearably aroused to see her before him, he wanted to remain respectful of her. When Dora was back in his arms, Harry looked into her eyes. The gray had swallowed the aurora light, and looked violet.  
“You’re feeling so many things. I feel them, too,” she said.  
“I don’t want to hurt you, Dora,” Harry said. His body was a mess of heat and static. He was aroused, and Dora was so close…  
“Then talk to me…” Dora said. “I see your thoughts. I see your mother…but, its all so dim, so dark, around the memory of her…”  
“Sirius told me how she died. I thought it was the same night as my dad. But…she got away. And she went to Snape. They were old friends. He was pretending to have switched sides. He took care of her while she was pregnant with my sister, Rose,” Harry said. “Dad was gone, and she was depressed…when she was better, she ran out on Snape, and he followed her. To America. He sold her out to the Death Eaters, and they killed her. Sirius doesn’t know how I disappeared, and Rose…I don’t know what happened to her.”  
“Harry…you need to feel this. Feel all of it. It won’t scare me, I promise. I can feel how big this pain is, like an expanding star, hot and hungry. It’s a growing scream. Just let it all out, my love,” Pandora said.  
Harry lay his head on her shoulder. Her soft, warm arms came around his shoulders as his tears fell. He cried into Dora’s shoulder, and when he began to feel that something was building in his chest and his throat, he screamed, the hot tears burning his eyes. Dora…he loved her so much, he trusted her with his pain and looked to her to share joy with. He felt unbearable love for her, and allowed himself to be vulnerable in her arms.   
When he had cleaned up his face and the hot tears were gone, he said, “Separate rooms, remember?”  
“I don’t want to leave you,” she said.  
“I can sleep now,” Harry said.  
She nodded, and understood. They would be beside each other in their thoughts. 

But, it was not Dora whose whisper Harry heard in his head in the darks. A familiar hiss urged him,   
“Find Severus Snape. Your mother’s shade will know no peace until the man who betrayed her is dead. She will know peace. You will know peace.”  
Harry dreamed that he stood in front of Voldemort, on a long green plain that swelled out to the horizon. The verdant grass waved to the rose and gold dawn sky. He would have expected the Dark Lord to cast a new moon midnight in Harry’s dreams, not breaking dawn.  
“It was you! He betrayed her for you! You killed them! My parents, Cedric, so many innocent people…you took them from their families, you took their futures, to make yourself more powerful!” Harry accused.  
“You have been taught nothing,” Voldemort crowed. “Parlor tricks! You have been denied even a taste of real magic. That is why the fears and griefs of life still pain you so, because you wander in the dark with neither light, nor true defense. When you have avenged your mother, you will be ready for the truth. It is what you want, isn’t it? Does your mother not deserve vengeance? I can help you end your pain, Harry..."  
“Get out of my head!” Harry demanded.  
He woke up with an aching chest, in cold sweat. Just as in his dream, outside it was rosy dawn.


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavender returns, and makes an accusation; Harry, Ron, and Hermione compare notes, and make a discovery; Snape remembers

Was Harry’s mother’s spirit truly not at peace, so long as Snape was alive? He asked himself as he brushed his teeth. He couldn’t believe a word out of Riddle…if that had even been him. If it was, Harry didn’t want to alarm Sirius and Remus, let alone the girls. He’d handle it with Fortune, after Defense Against the Dark Arts. If it wasn’t really Voldemort, he needed to get a grip.  
“Kids! You don’t want to miss the carriages!” Remus called from the kitchen.  
After a quick breakfast of boxed cereal with milk from the specialty shop that sold Muggle grocery items, Harry, Dora, and Lucy headed out to wait for the school carriage.  
“Harry!” Remus called. Harry jogged back to the door of the cottage.  
“Sirius had to go back to Londinium early. But, he told me everything he told you at the Grange. How are you, Harry? Really?” Remus asked.  
Harry sighed. “Uncle Remus….I don’t know. I understand Dumbledore trying to maintain peace, by taking Snape at his word and giving him a second chance. I understand you and Sirius not telling me, if Dumbledore asked you not to. But…its just all so much to wrap my head around.”  
“I rather wish that Sirius hadn’t told you the night before you go back up to school. He had a lot on his shoulders at a young age, and he sometimes forgets that that’s not the norm. He wants to give you a normal life, Harry, but he never had one,” Remus said.  
“You two give me about as much normal as I’m ever going to get,” Harry said.  
Remus gave him a sad smile. “Seize the normal, when and where you can, Harry. Like, being punctual for morning classes, for instance. Go, off with you now.”  
Harry waved ‘bye’ as he walked up the lane to join the girls.  
“Pandora’s informed me of my role in the operation!” Lucy said enthusiastically, as they all held out their wands like lighters at a concert. “Do you really think we’ll manage stealing from the Records Office.”  
“Sure. They keep the lost and found in there, Hermione will walk you in, plant the Canary Quills, they’ll go off, Dora will scarper with her parents’ info,” Harry said.  
Lucy clapped. “I’ve always wanted to be involved with something….covert!” she said.  
Dora met Harry’s eyes, and they shared a smile. A carriage, drawn by a hippogriff, pulled up. A third year boy called Aneurin Whittaker and a second year girl called Delilah Summerscale had already boarded, and they were soon joined by the last stop on the route, Lavender Brown, Ron’s ex. Harry thought he had heard her parents took her out of school to keep her from dating a centaur, but apparently, she was back.  
“Nice feint, last match, Harry,” Lavender said.  
“Thanks,” Harry said.  
“Bet old Mort’s head is still spinning!” Lavender said, with a wicked giggle.  
“Mort played hard,” Harry said.  
“But you went just a bit harder, didn’t you?” she cooed.  
What had happened to that red chord Ginny had told them about, Harry wondered. Lavender was acting rather flirty, not as if she was bonded to someone as he was to Dora. Dora had taken notice, and was the most prim and stoic he’d ever seen her. He now saw what Sirius meant about her being all Slytherin, deep down….well, hopefully not all Slytherin…  
“You really gave us quite a thrill, Harry,” Lavender said, with a sort of breathy, squeal/giggle hybrid, and her knees shifted as if she was so thrilled she could hardly contain it.  
Dora looked forbiddingly frosty.  
“So, how are you getting used to England, Dora?” Lavender asked.  
“We’re in Scotland, currently,” Dora said coolly. “But, as England is where I’ve lived all my life, I’m pretty well used to it.”  
Lucy laughed softly.  
“Oh, but the Vale isn’t really here, is it? Its one of those realms in the middle, isn’t it? I wouldn’t have thought you called that England,” Lavender said.  
“What would you call it, then?” Dora said.  
“I noticed you sat with the Gryffindors, at the match. Don’t your Ravenclaw friends mind?” Lavender said.  
Harry couldn’t deny the tension, but this was so different than how boys carried on. She hadn’t called Dora any names, and her tone was friendly, but she was passive aggressively, chidingly antagonizing her, trying to make Dora blow up. It was more the way a teacher would go about it, like how Snape slowly goaded a student he didn’t like with snide comment after snide comment, to get them to explode on him and put themselves in the wrong.  
Thoughts of Snape made Harry feel cold inside and removed from the people around him, again.  
“Why is it that you’re in Ravenclaw, anyway?” Lavender asked. “Aren’t all your family Slytherin? Shouldn’t you go back to Slytherin?”  
“Oy!” Harry objected. “Lavender, what’s your problem with Dora?”  
“Maybe I don’t like Death Eaters’ nieces slipping into Hogwarts, spying!” Lavender said.  
“What’s that?” Dora said.  
“Dora’s not a spy! She’s a student, just like you,” Lucy said heatedly.  
“I don’t even know you, little boy. All I know is that the newspapers say plain as day that Pandora’s uncle is a Death Eater. You think I don’t know who you are? You think I can’t find out? You were raised by the Malfoys, and you’re betrothed to that prat, Draco. Harry, you can’t trust her,” Lavender said.  
“Like Ron couldn’t trust you? What was that Hufflepuff bloke called, again?” Harry asked.  
“Oh, trust me-I wasn’t the only one seeing other blokes, between me and Ron,” Lavender said.  
“I know who I can trust, and you have no right to accuse Dora of anything,” Harry said.  
“I’m no Death Eater-would I bloody well be at school right now, if I was?” Dora said. “Would I have left the Vale, if I was? Think!”  
“Parvati says you hang all over Harry like you’re trying to prove something. Suppose you would, if you were a bloody spy!” Lavender said.  
“Can you leave it off, in front of the kids?” Harry said, referring to Delilah, Aneurin, and Lucy. “Can they just have a normal morning?”  
Lavender seemed to respect Harry enough to calm down, but shot Dora a hot glare. Dora met it with ice, and the ride up to the castle was silent.  
The carriage landed, and lined up with the others. The day students poured out, and walked up to the castle.  
“I thought Parvati liked me,” Pandora said softly, soft enough for only Harry to hear as they walked in the crush of chattering students meeting up with their friends. “We all had pizza at Merlini’s….”  
She sounded crushed. She had been so stoic and strong in front of Lavender, but now she was saddened, and Harry realized that Lavender had tarnished her cherished normalcy by saying Parvati had been false behind her back.  
“Look, Parvati’s not like that. She’s quiet, and not as hotheaded and silly as Lavender, even if they do go round together. And, they don’t so much anymore since she’s been seeing Somachandra Singh,” Harry said.  
“Its just like the Vale,” Pandora said dispiritedly.  
“Look, why don’t you just ask Parvati about it?” Harry said.  
“What?” Dora said incredulously. “Then if she rows with Lavender, it will be my fault, and she’ll hate me, and I’ll be known for not being able to keep my mouth shut!”  
“Huh? What?” Harry said. He didn’t understand girls-were any of them really friends?  
“Blood traitor on one side, spy on the other. Well, it doesn’t matter,” Pandora said. She looked at Lucy, and said, “I’ve got you, Lucilla, and you, Harry. And, I’m going to be an alchemist. I shall. You head up to Hufflepuff, dear. I shall see you in the Records office.”  
“Don’t worry about anything, Dora,” Lucy said, and headed off.  
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Harry asked.  
“Well, I don’t want her spreading that Death Eater spy business around…but, I’ve dealt with rumors before. Just not at Hogwarts. People are people, wherever you go, aren’t they? I’m more worried about you. Everything you told me last night….oh, Harry,” Pandora said.  
“Its all right. I want to know the truth about my family. You understand that,” Harry said.  
“Of course I understand,” Pandora said. “So, what’ve you got first this morning?”  
“Potions. Gray’s all right. We’re probably just reviewing Draught of Serenity,” Harry said.  
“Add crushed rose quartz, for a shot of loving-kindness,” Dora said.  
Harry smiled. “Wish you were the one that could go invisible-I need you by my side in Potions,” he said.  
Dora laughed, and gave him a kiss on the cheek.  
“Pandy!” Cressida Beverley called, waving enthusiastically, and collected Dora to walk to the Ravenclaw breakfast table with her. Harry waved ‘bye’ to her, and then jogged up the red carpeted step to the portrait hole.  
“Flibberdygibbet,” he said to the Fat Lady.  
“Who says so?!” she cried, outraged.  
“It’s the password,” an heiress painted as one of the mythological Graces reminded her.  
“Right-o!” said the Fat Lady, and the portrait hole to Gryffindor swung open.  
Hermione noticed Harry first, and said brightly, “Good morning! Do you have time to come to the Owlery with me? To post a letter?”  
“And miss breakfast?” Harry asked.  
“It’s the most important meal of the day, ‘Mione,” Ron chided. “What’s up, mate?” he said to Harry. He noticed the look on Harry’s face and became more sober.  
“I’ll tell you on the way to the Owlery,” he said.  
“You sure have been sending a lot of letters to that girl in Ecuador,” Ron said to Hermione.  
“What?” she said, and then turned to Harry, and said, “Harry, is everything all right?”  
As they walked to the tower where the mail owls were kept, Harry told them everything Sirius had revealed about Snape, his mother, and his sister.  
“Oh, Harry….” Hermione said.  
“So, your Mum had another baby, after your dad died?” Ron said.  
Harry nodded. “Sirius made it sound as if she was…severely depressed, after Dad died. I guess that’s why she let Snape be her carer.”  
“Of course, she was in shock! Her husband’s been killed, a dark wizard is pursuing her son who’s barely a toddler, she finds herself to be pregnant with her dead husband’s child…and it sounds as if Snape was as close to her, at one point, as you or I and Ron are now. Harry, can’t you see? If I was in your mother’s place, and I came to you or Ron for help, no matter what you had done or become, would you say I had been foolish?” Hermione said.  
“I don’t reckon either me or Ron is likely to become a Death Eater,” Harry said coldly.  
Hermione gave him a firm glance, and he sighed. “Yeah, I get it. Trusting Snape to my mum was like me trusting you, you trusting Ron, me trusting Ron, and so on. And she was in a bad way.”  
“He was really in the thick of things, wasn’t he?” Ron said. “what all do we know so far?”  
“About Snape?” Harry asked.  
Ron nodded.  
Hermione chimed in, “He was friends with Harry’s mother, Dr. Lupin, and Professor Fortune as a boy, in Yorkshire…”  
“But, they fell out eventually. Lupin says its because he told my dad and Sirius that he was a werewolf, not Snape; Sirius says Fortune started to get interested in Muggle music and pull away from Snape, and that my mum stopped speaking to him after he hexed my dad,” Harry said.  
“But, he stayed tight with Regulus Black, and his wife, Ada. Was in love with her, secretly,” Ron said.  
“They became alchemists, all three of them, and worked on the Lapis and the Dragon Pox cure. They trusted him enough to task him with the trip to Heliopolis, to collect the silphium,” Hermione said. “But, after Ada died, he aided Regulus in his attempts to resurrect her, most likely for financial gain.”  
“He became a Death Eater, but claimed to turn spy for the resistance, and Sirius said he planted the information about the Phoenix Consurgens prophecy so that the Order of the Phoenix would find out. My mum trusted him enough to hide out with him after my dad died, but for whatever reason she changed her mind and ran off to America with me and Rose,” Harry said.  
Neither of them broached the subject of Lily Potter’s murder. They let silence speak for it.  
“But here’s the things that don’t make sense-Dumbledore hired him here, and let him teach for years,” Harry said. “and, where has he gone, now? To Voldemort?”  
Ron and Hermione exchanged a grave look.  
“There’s another thing. What’s wrong with Voldemort? I mean, how is he weakened, or impaired? He must need the silphium to restore his strength. So, what has occurred to weaken him?” Hermione asked.  
“I have to tell you guys something,” Harry said, and he told them about the succubi, and his dream of Voldemort.  
“Harry, he’s using Mentalism against you! Mental magic,” Hermione said.  
“What Fortune’s teaching us, that will keep him out. But, be honest with him about everything you just told us, all right, mate?” Ron said.  
Harry felt relieved that he could rely on them and trust them. He didn’t want to talk any more about it.  
“What do you think we’ll get out of Dora’s parents’ file?” he asked.  
“Hopefully we’ll learn more about their time at The Order of Trismegistus. The more we learn about their work, the more we’ll know about why Voldemort is interested in alchemy. He recruited two alchemists we know of, Snape and Regulus, and he’s looking for Perrier Flamel,” Hermione said.  
“You really think he’s been weakened, somehow? And needs Alchemy to stay strong?” Ron said.  
“It would explain why he’s using Mentalism, Possession, and Summoning-remote methods of attack,” Hermione said.  
At that, Ron nodded.  
“But, I imagine, its still obscure, powerful Dark magic that makes him look impressive, so he gets to show off and stay safe all at the same time,” Harry said.  
“Right! Remember, Natalie said dark wizards are narcissists,” Hermione said. “They want to protect themselves, enlarge their myth, and intimidate, all at the same time.”  
“They go far to appear strong,” Harry said, remembering what Sirius told him.  
“But, in this case, if you look close enough, and you know as much as we do, you see that he’s covering up a weakness,” Ron said.  
Harry said, “This is brilliant! We know he’s got a secret, and that he’s far from invincible.”  
They had reached a covered walkway at the end of a courtyard, and their conversation was cut off by a girl’s scream. Harry, Ron, and Hermione jogged into the castle corridor. Harry instinctively batted away small, cool, slippery objects falling onto his face and shoulders.  
Hermione grasped one. It was a Tarot card depicted a man hanging upside down.  
“My mum reads those. That’s Le Pendu,” Ron said.  
“Le Pendu?” Harry asked, as the cards rained from the roof, covering distraught students, filling the floor.  
“The Hanged Man,” Ron said.  
“This is the Marseilles Tarot, one of the first decks. In an earlier deck, produced in Italy, it was known as the Traitor. In Renaissance Italy, political traitors were depicted in graffiti being hung upside down,” Hermione said.  
“Look! Look at the walls!” Ron said.  
In blood red graffiti, written on the stone walls, were the word: ‘BLOOD TRAITORS’, and a list of scrawled names, too.  
“Who did this?” Harry said. 

The Raven was confident that the Vampire would at least give him a week. He’d lost sight of Dora when the shoddy little Muggle car Remus drove had entered the protective Wards, faerie magic. No one had ever successfully plotted Orchard Grange, rendering the house all but invisible. The cottage where Remus lived with Sirius Black was warded, too, but by wizards’ magic: not as strong, though wizard supremacists would be loath to admit it. In his Raven form, the forest and air welcomed Severus into the protective circle around the cottage, as it would not admit him to the Grange. He could see her there, his alchemical child, safe in Harry’s arms, watching Muggle films over the weekend.  
Remus’s mother had delighted in showing Remus and his friends films, too. The Raven glided on the wind, felt it buoy him like an ocean wave, climbed the gray sky over the castle, and remembered.  
Lily was the first of his friends. He’d dreamed that a white horse led him to a redheaded girl, and he found her later that week. He watched from the young sapling trees at the edge of the forest by the girls’ school playground. Her hair caught the sunlight, and the sunlight lovingly touched it to vivid shades of crimson and gold fire.  
“Witch!” shrieked the accusations of other girls.  
“No! I didn’t mean to! I’m sorry!” said the redheaded girl desperately.  
Her friends ran away.  
“Please!!” she wailed. She wandered to a group of mounds of sand and gravel at the edge of the playground, by the trees, left over from some kind of construction. She sat on the ground, and with her elbows rested on her soft, nectarine-like knees, she began to weep.  
“Don’t cry,” Severus said, coming out of the shadows.  
She screamed, startled. Her eyes went wide. They were wet with tears, and the most vivid green that eyes could possibly be.  
Severus pressed one finger to his mouth, signaling for her to be quiet, the way his mother did when his father was angry and looking for him. He hid in the coat closet with the slatted door, and his mother peered in, and silently told him to be quiet.  
“Who are you? This is a girl’s school,” said the redheaded girl.  
“Well, that’s why I don’t go here, isn’t it?” Severus said.  
The girl laughed. “I reckon so,” she agreed. “What are you doing here?”  
Severus felt flushed with satisfaction that he had made her laugh. “Why are you crying?” he asked.  
“Mildred Kenney says I’m a witch,” she said.  
“Why?” he asked.  
“Look,” she said. Lily put her ear to the ground, as if putting her ear to a seashell. She nodded, seeming to confirm something. The ground shook a little-Severus could feel the reverberations in his legs. Around where Lily sat, thistles started to burst spontaneously from the ground.  
“They said they wanted more flowers to pick…so, when we run out, I make them. We were playing wedding. The boys go to that school next door, but there's only one playground, we all have recess together. You don't go to the boy's school, or I would have seen you, by now. Mickey Dennison is going to be the groom, once Susie Tanner catches him. We chase the boys, and make them marry us,” Lily said.  
“That’s stupid,” Severus opined. He was dizzied by the sheer amount of words that had poured from her small, rosy mouth. His house was so quiet. The most his mother spoke to him at length was when she was telling him things he needed to know about Hogwarts and the world of Wizards, or when she was instructing him how to make a potion.  
“I could catch you!” Lily said. “Then you’d have to be groom!”  
“You can only run as fast as a girl, so that’s not likely,” Severus said.  
“They said they wanted more flowers! Why would Mildred be angry that I made them?” Lily asked.  
“What else can you do?” he asked hungrily.  
Lily shrugged. “Make book pages turn…boil water for tea without turning the stove on…find things…or change them into other things. Mum says its ESP, and lots of scientists in America are studying it. At universities. They’re on the cutting edge at Duke and Princeton University,” she said. The last bit was obviously a quote from a magazine or television. “Do you know who Uri Gellar is? Mum says I’m like him….”  
“I have no idea. But I know I wouldn’t like to be cut up by a Muggle scientist,” Severus said.  
“Cut up? No! They just run tests, like doctors…” Lily said.  
“What’s your name?” he asked her.  
“Lily Evans,” she said. He told her his name, Severus Snape.  
“Lily, you can’t let some scientist or doctor study you. It’ll break the secrecy laws, and you’ll get in trouble. There’s a prison, and its guarded by creatures that wear black cloaks and steal your soul, and..” he knew that he was rushing, bungling it all, but her beauty, fair skin and fiery hair, soft face, arms, and legs, small and kind face dominated by those eyes, was filling him with jitters, and talk of American Muggle scientists had scared him.  
Lily looked scared. “What are you talking about?”  
“Lily, you’re a witch, but that doesn’t have to be a bad thing. You were born with magic. So was I. Look,” he said, and scanned the yard desperately.  
He found a plum tree, blossoming with virginal blossoms that carried a whiff of the perfume of the fruit that would replace them. He gestured for Lily to follow him. She frowned with skepticism and hesitated, but followed him. Together, they stood in the sweet smelling shade of the plum tree, and Severus concentrated, closing his eyes. When he did, all the blossoms fell languidly around Lily Evans’s shoulders, kissing her fiery hair and her shoulders. She turned round and round, dancing, giggling, holding out her hands.  
“Severus! You really are like me!” she said.  
“I told you. You’re a witch, and I’m a wizard,” he said.  
“So….I’ve been doing magic?” she asked, looking at him with her bright, beautiful eyes. Fairchild eyes, Faerie eyes.  
“This is magic,” he said.  
It was the happiest day of his life, until Rose was born.  
The Raven peered into the greenhouse, where his daughter was in a herbology lesson  
. Rose’s…Ginevra’s hair, fiery as a vivid summer sunset, touched with morning sunshine, fell into her face as she peered over the assigned plant. She swept her hair out of her way with one slender, pale hand. From far away, she looked just like her mother. She said something to a female classmate, and then laughed. He could not hear it from so far away, and she’d certainly had no occasion to laugh in his classroom, so he didn’t know the sound of his daughter’s laugh…but he was sure it sounded like her mother’s laugh, like wild music.  
The Raven remembered. Waves had roared and whales had sang, beyond the perennially wet and misty forest. Dew and rain clung to the needles of evergreens in the forest that surrounded Lily’s cabin, and separated it from the beach of Orcas Island. She came out to the small porch barefoot, walking over pine needles, down the steps to where he stood. Susanna Whiteraven, her friend, was under the Imperius Curse, and waiting for his next command. Lily recognized it as soon as she saw Susanna’s blank eyes, but she was a spy, a fighter, a member of the Resistance: she had seen a lot, and swallowed her dismay.  
“Sev, what have you done?!” she said furiously. Her eyes were dark emeralds, hard and furious with him.  
“Lily, why did you run off? The children, Lily! They’re not safe here! Where are Rose and Harry?” Severus asked.  
“What have you done?” she asked again.  
“I’m here to protect you, Lily,” he swore. “and our children.”  
She looked up into the gray sky, where dark shapes were beginning to appear. Death Eaters. They’d followed him…  
The Raven couldn’t bear to remember anymore.


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry learns another shocking secret; Dora steals the file; Fortune tells Harry Voldemort's modus operandi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Stay safe, and well. Not only are we all in this together, we are all connected, all one world. Peace and love.

The warlock, Echo Gray, strode up and down the aisles of the classroom, examining their potions. Harry’s shirt was damp from the steam of the cauldron.  
Professor Gray tasted it, and said, “Rose quartz! Yum!” She purred, and moved on, then came back, and said, “Oh, yeah, I forgot-take ten points for Gryffindor!”  
Harry and Hermione high fived.  
“Pandora?” Hermione asked.  
“ ‘Course,” Harry said.  
“Well, nothing wrong with a little help,” Hermione said.  
“Um, Hermione? I think this might be kind of a girl thing, and maybe I should stay out of it,” Harry said.  
“A ‘girl thing’? Harry, I object to that on so many grounds…but, go on,” she said.  
“So…Lavender says that Parvati said something rude about Dora. What do you make of that?” Harry said.  
“Hmm…Parvati loves a good gossip. Maybe she said something. Maybe she’s jealous that Dora is in the same Coven school house as Somachandra, her boyfriend. Or, maybe Lavender’s making it all up because she’s the one who’s jealous-that Parvati has been hanging out with the Ravenclaws more than her. Or, maybe word’s gone round that you and Dora have a red chord, and Lavender’s jealous because things have been so difficult for her and Serpentarius, the centaur,” Hermione said.  
“Who would know that?” Harry asked.  
“I’d bet that Dora told Cressida Beverley,” Hermione said. “I like Cressida, but she’s inconsistent. Not exactly untrustworthy, just changeable. But, I do think she’d be loyal to Dora when it counted, out of solidarity, both of them being Vale girls trying to go to school. Still, she might have said something indiscreet…”  
“Why, exactly, are women like this?” Harry asked.  
“I have no idea what you mean,” Hermione said. “At least women don’t go around hexing each other at the least provocation.”  
“I haven’t hexed anyone since Draco Malfoy left school. Coincidence? I think not,” Harry said.  
Hermione almost laughed, then corrected herself, and focused on her cauldron of Draught of Serenity.  
Potions ended, and they joined the throng of students in the corridors. The Canary Quills incident was going to take place right before lunch, they’d all agreed. As they walked to History of Magic, they heard students chattering about the graffiti and rain of cards.  
“Do you reckon there could be any connection between the attack on the faeries?” Harry said.  
“Well, Crabbe and Goyle were bailed out, of course, but I haven’t seen them around yet,” Hermione said.  
“Oy,” Ron said, jogging up to them. "You’re on that list, mate! So’s Dora. The list of blood traitors. I didn’t make it, myself. Shame-they say its an honor to be nominated.”  
“Its not a BAFTA,” Hermione said.  
“Even better, its street cred. Blood Traitor-sounds like a band Sirius would have been in, in the 80s or something,” Ron said.  
Harry laughed. “Hermione,” he said, to his other friend’s worried face, “Its okay. I don’t care about being called names, or written about. That’s nothing new, is it?”  
“Right. I mean, Slytherins think you’re a disgrace: what else is new?” Ron said. “I’m the son of a Squib-I can only imagine what they think of me.”  
“Yes, but what does this list signify?” Hermione said. “Is it about shaming the listed people, or targeting them?”  
Harry exhaled loudly. He told Ron that he and Hermione thought there could be a connection between the Le Pendu cards and the Goblin Market attack.  
“Sure. Deverell’s got a right little gang, hasn’t he? And it’s different than when Draco was the top boy…more restless. Like, they wanna do something proper evil, they just haven’t got the trick of it, yet,” Ron said.  
“Very astute, Ronald!” Hermione said.  
They headed into class. The rotation had changed, and they had History with Hufflepuff. Binns, the ghost, lectured unvaryingly about a battle of Welsh druids who transformed various trees into warriors to fight their war for them, and somehow managed to make even this potentially thrilling material dry. Roger Shepherd had no ideological objections to make, for once, but he did come up to Harry after class, and say,  
“What you said before, about not believing the prophecy about you and Riddle-would you go on record about that?”  
“Why, who’s asking?” Harry said.  
“My brother has a zine. He’s part of a collective of citizen journalists. I think it would set a lot of people free, to hear it from the Boy Who Lived himself that its all rubbish. We make our own fate, and we have to motivate ourselves, without relying on figureheads and symbols,” Roger said.  
“Oh, said all that, did I?” Harry said, again trying to mimic Sirius’s laconic wit under pressure. It had the desired effect, Roger cut his own monologue short and looked at Harry as if just recognizing him.  
“I mean, that would be the message we’re trying to send,” Roger said.  
“To people that you’re trying to teach to think for themselves? You’re going to tell them what to think? Well, good luck with that,” Harry said, and started to walk away.  
Roger grabbed Harry’s arm. Harry slipped his hand in the pocket of his robes and grasped his wand.  
“Harry, we have to check the lost and found, remember?” Hermione said quickly.  
“Don’t you feel you have a responsibility to tell the truth?” Roger said.  
“I don’t do interviews,” Harry said.  
“Think of the other families. How they must have felt all these years,” Roger said.  
“What?” Harry said. Ron looked at Roger, and shook his head, telling him no, don’t.  
“The other boys that Riddle murdered, because of a bloody unfavorable horoscope. The other Phoenix Consurgens boys. You’re the only one left alive, and it would only be decent if you mobilized your voice to dispel the superstitions that led to their murders,” Roger said.  
Harry yanked his hand away. ‘Find him,’ Voldemort seemed to whisper afresh. ‘Answer your mother’s death with his blood…’  
To both Roger and Riddle, Harry shouted, “You can’t make me do anything! I don’t have to do anything you say!”  
Shepherd’s eyes widened.  
“Fine,” he said, composing himself into a sort of deflated coldness.  
“Everything all right, Rog?” asked Davy Llewellyn, his best friend.  
“Yeah. Let’s go,” Roger said.  
Hermione, Ron, and Harry hurried up the staircase, to a landing under a stained glass window.  
“There were others. Other boys. The prophecy…it was about every boy, born a wizard, on the day of the Sign of the Phoenix…how could I not have figured it out? There were others…and he killed them…” Harry said. “He’s in my head…he was in my head last night…”  
“Harry, please, breathe,” Hermione said. “Ron, get Professor Fortune!”  
“I don’t need Fortune, not right now. We’ve got to meet Ptolemy and Dora-Canary Quills, remember?” Harry said.  
He took deep, gulping breaths, and caught his breath. He tried to ground as Fortune had taught them, but those lessons seemed so far away. How many other little boys had been murdered? Why had he lived? How many families had mourned the lost boys? Did they hate him, for living? Harry tried to hold it together as they made it to the same floor as the Records Office.  
Dora was in place, and caught Harry’s eye as she headed into the office, her long hair in a ponytail that bounced as she walked.  
“Ptolemy Fanshawe! What’s that poking out of your bag?!” Hermione said, going into Prefect mode. She stormed over to Lucy as if she was furiously enforcing the school’s rules.  
Harry and Ron took their places, Ron on one end of the corridor behind a suit of armor, Harry on the other end, pretending to be transfixed by some old school trophies.

Harry was screaming inside, Dora could feel it through the chord. She met his eye, as she walked into the Records Office, but she could tell from his eyes that he wanted to talk about it later. She felt frustrated at that, but had to focus on the task at hand. The recordkeeper was a witch with big red glasses wearing a pink wool capelet, a prim gray skirt, and honest-to-goodness white gloves. She sat at her desk, behind a typewriter. The keys chimed and clacked, charmed to write, without her hands on them.  
“Ms. Fridaythorpe? May I have a moment of your time?” Pandora asked.  
“Not this Merlin business! I told your Mr. Shepherd, yes, every student committee has the right to petition the Headmaster about matters of concern, but I cannot for that purpose commit any documents as precious as those pertaining to Merlin’s time at Hogwarts to a student, or student club! Good day!” said Ms. Fridaythorpe.  
“Actually, I’m here about my parents,” Dora said.  
Ms. Fridaythorpe’s attention turned from her typewriter, so the typing stopped, and she looked about the room as if Dora was suggesting that she had been keeping her parents behind her large potted ferns.  
“Oh?” Ms. Fridaythorpe said.  
“Yes. You see, I’d like to try out for the Aesthetic Dance team, but for that Madam Hooch, the sports director, says I’ll need a physical examination, and my parents’ medical records. Would there be medical information in my parents’ file?” Pandora said.  
“Name?” Ms. Fridaythorpe said.  
Pandora assumed she meant her own, and said, “Pandora Alcyone Black.”  
“Parents’ names?” asked the Recordkeeper.  
“Regulus Arcturus Black, and Ada Vaillancourt Black,” she said.  
“Oh, yes, right…well. That’s not a problem. I’ll pull them out, and send them along to Madam Hooch,” Ms. Fridaythorpe said.  
“Can’t I just tell her what’s in them?” Pandora said, getting into the role of a silly girl who didn’t really want to be bothered with this, it was a cumbersome step in the process of being able to do dance drills on the Quidditch field.  
“Tell her? Tell her what’s in them? Students will say anything, won’t they, and I don’t know you well enough to say what you’d do, little girl!” Ms. Fridaythorpe said sharply, as she rolled in her swivel chair from one file cabinet to the other, pulling out files, and slamming the steel cabinets as she went, opening and slamming them in a noisy chorus. The door opened, and Hermione strode in, with Lucy.  
“Ms. Fridaythorpe! I need the Lost and Found,” Hermione said.  
“What for?” the recordkeeper asked.  
“Mr. Fanshawe had the bright idea of disrupting lunch in the Great Hall with a flock of Canary Quills. They explode into birds, you know,” Hermione said.  
“Oh, I know what they do. Put them in that basket. And you!” Fridaythorpe said, scowling admonishingly at Lucy, “Hufflepuff, is it? We’ll see how Professor Sprout likes your little tricks…”  
“Hufflepuff students are known for their industriousness, good common sense, and kind natures. Isn’t doing something as inconsiderate as interrupting lunch with Canary Quills completely antithetical to the values of your coven?” Hermione said, to an increasingly guilty looking Lucy. Fridaythorpe was nodding approvingly at Hermione’s lecture, until the Canary Quills escaped their pencil box-like packaging, and burst into flight. They squawked and shed yellow feathers, flying in a blur of yellow around the office.  
“Oh!!!!” Ms. Fridaythorpe exclaimed, quite caught off guard.  
Hermione looked at Dora-her eyes said, ‘Now!’ She quickly turned her attention back to the birds. Ms. Fridaythorpe was running in circles around her desk, her hands over her hairdo, a stiffly gelled beehive. Hermione calmly aimed her wand at the birds and said, “Aves Prohibere!” as Dora took the files, and ran.  
“Stop that girl!” Ms. Fridaythorpe cried. For someone who kept thousands of years of Hogwarts records in order for a living, it hadn’t took much to get her to melt down.  
Dora sprinted down the end of the corridor where Harry waited by a trophy case.  
“Got it!” she said jubilantly, smiling, and hugged him.  
He wrapped his arms around her, and held her close for a few precious seconds, but when she pulled back she saw how dark and serious his green eyes looked. He looked older, maybe a bit more handsome for this new solemnity, and something about the way he looked and felt told her something very important had changed.  
“Brilliant!” Harry said. Lucy, Dora, and Hermione all met up by the trophy case.  
“That was amazing!” Lucy said. “Hermione, you were so….duplicitous! Inspiringly so!”  
Hermione laughed. “You did well, too. And you, Dora. Now, what?”  
“Now, we should go to lunch. Alibi, you know?” Harry said. “Dora, maybe you should take these up to Ravenclaw.”  
“All right-walk with me? We’ll still make lunch,” she said.  
“Yeah, sure,” Harry agreed, and they left the others. The riddle to get into the Ravenclaw Quarter was, “I never cease, though I ebb.”  
“Oh, yes, the waves,” Dora said hurriedly, and the painting of Rowena Ravenclaw smiled and waved her hand in acquiescence as the door opened. The common room walls were papered in dark blue silk, the ceiling was painted in an astronomical mural, and there were bookshelves and telescopes, as well. Everyone was at lunch, so the tower room was empty and serene. 

Harry could hear the musical cries of Sirens from the lake outside, which was silver and sunflecked in the big picture window. It was more eerie than the pure, clear Alkonost song to which he and Dora had kissed, it called one to the water. Harry fought the urge to peer out the window at the water. Once he had fought the compulsion, the music was penetratingly beautiful.  
“I love it here,” Dora said. “Hope I haven’t done anything to be expelled.”  
“We’ll put the file back,” Harry said.  
“How?” Dora asked.  
“We’ll figure it out,” Harry said.  
“Harry…” she said, and reached for his hand.  
He smiled as he took her hand, and they walked up to her room, where they had chastely spent a night in each other’s arms. They sat on Dora’s bed. It felt grounding to be alone with her. Her dark gray school uniform skirt’s stiff pleats stopped just above her knee, and the dark honey skin of her knee was a valley between the gray skirt and navy blue Ravenclaw nylon knee socks. Her hair was still pulled back, all gathered behind her back, and the light from the window touched it with sunlight, exposing all the light and dark shades of brown. She was beautiful, so beautiful it redeemed the turmoil he was feeling.  
“I did as you said,” Harry said.  
“Oh?” she asked.  
“With the rose quartz. Gray said it was yummy,” Harry said.  
Dora laughed. “She’s quite a character! Very creative. Warlocks live in another dimension, you know. Wizards seldom get to see it. But, I’d like to,” she said.  
“How many realms are there?” Harry asked.  
“Untold worlds. The Faerie Country is in another realm, and the wizards’ home country, Vinland,” Pandora said. “the communities of wizards in this realm are rather like colonies, you could say.”  
“Does anyone ever go to Vinland?” Harry asked.  
“Yes, its rather customary to do a Grand Tour of the Faerie Countries and the homeland after school. For gentlemen, of course-ladies just stay home and write to them,” Dora said.  
“What if you and I went together? On a tour of the realms. After school?” Harry asked.  
Dora smiled. “Then, we would have to be married, or people would talk,” she said. “Oh, wait…people already are!”  
Harry smiled, and said “Don’t worry about that graffiti. Stupid Slytherin prank. I’ll give your cousin this-if Draco had beef with someone, they knew it. He’d bring it to them, instead of picking on shopkeepers and defacing the school.”  
“You think the same person who did the vandalism is behind the Goblin Market? But, Crabbe and Goyle…” Dora said.  
“Don’t do anything they haven’t been ordered to. This is Deverell. He’s top boy in Slytherin, and he’s overcompensating because of how long he had to stand in line behind Draco to be considered a big deal,” Harry said.  
“Then this is perfect,” Dora said.  
“How do you reckon that?” Harry said.  
“Draco must come back to school! Between him and Severus being gone, there’s a power vacuum. Deverell is trying to fill Draco’s slot, and Fortune doesn’t intimidate the students the way Severus did. Whatever Draco is doing at the Manor can’t be more important than coming back here and putting Deverell in his place, to stabilize Slytherin,” Pandora said.  
“That’s well spotted, but I doubt he’d go along with it, if you write and ask him to come back. He’s joined the war, now. There’s no going back,” Harry said.  
“Well, it sounds as if you envy him,” Dora said.  
“When the Guild questioned me about Cedric’s death…they held me over night. In the cells beneath the Hall of Justice. I sat in the dark just wanting to break out, to tear down the bars and the walls, the whole city of Londinium, if I had to. I knew in every part of me, in my bones, in my blood, that things are all wrong, and they have to change. I want to change them, Dora,” Harry said.  
She put her hand on his shoulder. “We are. We don’t think like those who came before us, Harry. Changing the world grows out of being ourselves, out of being different.”  
This gave Harry more relief than he had felt in hours. He wanted to tell her everything, about Voldemort’s whispers, about Shepherd’s slip about the other Phoenix boys…but it all caught in his chest and his throat, and they felt tight and achy once more. He looked into Dora’s eyes, caressed her soft face, and moved in slowly to kiss her. She leaned forward, and their lips brushed tentatively, and then they kissed in earnest. Harry stroked the soft skin of Dora’s knee, between her skirt and socks.  
The door opened.  
“Well, I thought I’d find you here,” Kashmira said. “Shall I take points off from Gryffindor, Harry Potter? And alert McGonagall?”  
“No, no, that’s quite all right, Kashmira-I’m on my way out,” Harry reassured her breezily. “Dora, let’s study in the library tonight? The Alchemy project, remember?”  
“Yes, of course,” she agreed.  
“Alchemy’s not worth taking if its not going to be Snape. He’s a Third Degree Alchemist, certified by the Emerald Order! I only want to learn from the best. You did private lessons with him in the Vale, right, Dora?” Kashmira asked.  
Harry had felt buoyed by Dora’s words and mere presence. But, hearing Snape praised brought waves roaring in his ears.  
“The best? You call him the best?” Harry said acidly.  
“Well, professionally speaking…Gray takes it all a bit lightly, doesn’t she?” Kashmira said.  
“Better her than someone like him,” Harry said, and he knew that his tone was all but a snarl, that Dora was giving him warning eyes not to start a row with her friend…but he couldn’t stop…he could see his mother, telling him to be a big boy for Rosie, the sister he had never known…was that when Snape arrived at her door? He imagined his large, pale hand grabbing his mother’s arm roughly, wrenching her forward, as he peered into her green eyes with disgust and relish of her obvious distress, as he sneered, “I gave you a chance, Lily.” A chance that was revoked…  
Kashmira merely shrugged. She didn’t pick up on anything odd, in Harry’s voice. Plenty of students loathed Snape. Harry doubted few had as much reason as he.  
‘Your mother would have lived, if not for him,’ Voldemort whispered.  
‘And the other Phoenix boys would have lived if not for you. Get out of my head-you’re the cause of all our pain,’ Harry told Voldemort.  
His head began to ache. His vision turned white. When it cleared, he was on the green plain again, with Voldemort. He could see more than before: the swell of ancient barrows, a tower, and the outline of a horse built of stones aligned on the grass.  
“You don’t understand the full scope of magic, and all that must happen for the forces of the universe to be balanced,” Voldemort said.  
“I don’t care! You killed them! You killed them!” Harry raged.  
“Harry!”  
He was called back by Hermione’s voice. He looked around, and saw that he was in Hagrid’s cabin. The cozy, round stone walls encircled him in warmth, and he was under a heavy fur serving as a blanket.  
“Harry! You’re awake! ‘Ave some soup!” Hagrid said eagerly, and ladled some kind of broth with bits of a chewy meat Harry hoped and assumed was beef into his mouth. It was either chew it or spit it out, and Harry chose chew because he felt drained, too weak even to spit. He looked around , and Hagrid’s small house was crowded with Ron, Hermione, Dora, Hagrid himself, and Professor Fortune.  
“All right, let’s get them energies all stabilized, mate, then we can talk about it,” Fortune said, in his accent that was a badly glued together hybrid of Yorkshire, where he was from, and the East End of London, where he had run away to. He framed Harry’s face with his hands, and chanted. He moved on to Harry’s throat, and chest. His eyes were closed as he chanted.  
When he was done, he sat on the floor beside Hagrid’s bed, waiting for Harry’s story.  
“Voldemort…came to my dreams. And, I heard him again,” Harry said. “Up in Ravenclaw….when I was talking to Kashmira Singh.”  
“Yes, you and Kash were talking, then you went pale, and sweat broke out on your face…you gripped the dresser drawer, to steady yourself, and then you fell…you were shaking, and you shouted, ‘You killed them, you killed them!’. I told Kash to run and get Fortune. He was in the school garden, helping Hagrid with some Faerie plants, and they both came,” Pandora said. “While they were bringing you here, I went to the Great Hall and grabbed Ron and Hermione.”  
“Harry, what did you see in there, mate?” Ron asked.  
“Has Voldemort ever appeared to you before last night and today?” Hermione asked.  
“Not like this. It started after Sirius told me it was Snape that sold my mum out. Voldemort told me that I should kill him…that my mum won’t be at peace till I kill Snape,” Harry said.  
“Harry, no! You can’t do a thing like that! You ain’t a killer, and even if ya wanted ta be, yer mum really would be in a state o’er there on the other side if ya did a thing like that. Let me tell ya summat about Lily, she hated killin’,” Hagrid said.  
Then how unfair, Harry thought, that she was murdered.  
“Harry…” Hermione said, horrified.  
“Voldemort’s enticing you to kill?” Fortune said gravely.  
“He says that I don’t understand magic, what it takes to balance the universe…and he can end my pain,” Harry said. Now that it was all out, he felt the tension vacating his chest…but he wanted to cry. He bit back the feeling.  
Fortune looked into Harry’s eyes with his heterochromatic blue and brown ones, and said, “Harry, he wants you on his side. I don’t know for what purpose and for how long. He may still want to kill ya in the end, I dunno, but he wants your power, too, and he wants to turn it dark.”  
“Turn me…dark?” Harry asked.  
“When Voldemort wants you, he makes your darkest wish come true. The darkest thing you ever wanted, he sets you free to do it, or makes it happen for you, and you come out feeling liberated, and grateful to him, of course…but, its like blackmail. It ties you to something so dark you have no choice to stay with him either so he can keep feeding you more experiences like it, or so that you won’t be connected to it and punished,” Fortune said.  
“So, truly, his Death Eaters are an army beholden to him through ties of addiction and blackmail,” Hermione said.  
“50 Points for Gryffindor, ‘Mione. That’s right,” Fortune said. “Now, think of a song.”  
“Huh?” Harry said.  
“Think of a song you know all the words to, while we talk. It confuses folks trying to read your mind. We gotta work on protecting every level of your aura, but you ain’t there yet, so think of a song,” Fortune said.  
“Oh…okay,” Harry said, and chose ‘Don’t Let Me Down’ by the Beatles, while he asked,  
“Riddle wants me to want to kill Snape?”  
“He wants an opening in your soul. He wants you to lean into the darkness, then commit an act that will split your soul. That’s what murder does, it damages your soul. He can come in through an opening like that,” Fortune said.  
“And possess me, like he did Ginny Weasley?” Harry asked.  
“Maybe that’s what he wants, for a time. All we know is that you need to protect your aura, and your mind, your very soul from him. It’s a good thing we’ve got his true name-I can do a binding ritual, but it won’t hold forever,” Fortune said.  
“Sure. And we’ll study the aura thing. And, I’ll think of every bloody song I know,” Harry said.  
“That’s all good, but it won’t do much good if part of you does want Sev dead,” Fortune said. He didn’t know who Fortune meant at first, then he figured Sev=Severus. Harry was jarred. He had never heard anyone call Snape by a nickname before. He remembered that Fortune was his old friend.  
“Did you know? That he sold out my mum?” Harry said.  
“I wasn’t in touch with the old gang, towards the end of the war. I was undercover in the world of Muggle occultists in the U.S with pro-Voldemort sympathies. He’s something of a rock star, to that lot,” Fortune said.  
“Mental,” Ron muttered.  
Fortune shot him a look of agreement.  
“But, Voldemort hates Muggles,” Harry said.  
“So do the Muggles that support him. They’re the same people who get hung up on mass shootings and think a race war is likely: lovers of chaos, with a grudge against the world. And, they think the way he sows chaos is a perfect expression of satanic occult values about doing whatever the fuck you want whenever you want. I’m not saying every Muggle who dabbles in magic is like that, but there is a corps of them, and I worked them for our side. I wish I had known that Lily was in North America. Sod the mission, I would have chucked it all and ran to Mexico with you and her, and your baby sister,” Fortune said.  
“Rose,” Harry said. “Remus and Sirius never told me about Rose…or about the other Phoenix boys. I lived, and they died….”  
“Magic is rough, Harry. It’s a rough gift, and a rough life. But we are magic. We can’t run from ourselves. When we embrace ourselves, we can decide what we want in our lives, and what we don’t,” Fortune said. “Lily chose the light, so did Remus. Sev couldn’t escape the darkness. Me, I took some kind of middle road that’s a long highway with a lot of exits, make of that what you will. But, every wizard’s gotta choose.”  
“Wina told me about your son. He’s lost, like my sister,” Harry said.  
Pain flickered across Fortune’s eyes. “Yes. They’re lost,” Fortune said.  
“I just wish I knew what happened to Rose,” Harry said.  
“Don’t worry about that now, Harry. Get some sleep,” Hagrid said.  
“I got the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw second years, this period. Gotta head back up to the castle. Hagrid, call me if he takes a turn, all right?” Fortune said. “Come on, you lot-let’s all head back up,” he added, to Ron, Hermione, and Pandora.

Fortune walked ahead of the children, past Hagrid’s garden, and the school garden’s abundant rows. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his old friend, Lily Evans-Potter. She looked the way she must have the day she died: tall, with waving auburn hair and eyes as green as an oak leaf, wearing a turtleneck sweater, a flannel shirt unbuttoned, jeans, and hiking boots, all well suited to taking her young children on hikes amongst the majestic trees of Washington, Rosie in a papoose and Harry holding onto her hand toddling beside her.  
She had a story to tell…to both of them, Harry and Rose. Robbie looked into her eyes, and appealed to her that it had to wait.


	44. Chapter 44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny's confidence is shaken; a friend confides in Robbie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and enjoying this story:) Its a true labor of love.

“What happened here?” Ginny idly wondered out loud. The Records Office was covered in yellow feathers.  
“Never you mind-what do you want?” snarled the Recordkeeper, Ms. Fridaythorpe. She was covered in yellow feathers, too, and obviously not happy about it.  
Ginny wasn’t taken aback by her tone. She was used to being treated as if she was of no importance. Growing up, as she had told Hermione and Harry, she sometimes inherited the Malfoy girls’ gently used old toys and clothes, and played with them. Anthea was the sort of girl who liked to play house, that younger children were her babies and she their mother-a mother who solemnly fed them macaroons for lunch, with the benevolent air of the goddess Ceres bestowing grain on humanity. Pandora liked to escape to the outdoors, but if they got dirty on their woodland rambles, Pandora's governess, nanny, or even Manor staff like the cook, Mrs. Applethwaite, would scold Ginny fiercely, even if it had been Pandora’s idea to go picking bluebells, or looking for pixies beneath toadstools. The message was clear: she wasn’t a “Miss”, a little lady. She was just plain folks and had better never be dirty, wild, or loud, then she would be truly intolerable, not even fit to serve her betters.  
As Ginny watched her father languish of Dragon Fever, compounded by how his body was still weakened from the accident building the folly tower, she saw even clearer than before. People like her were born poor and kept that way, and worked until they died to make other people, richer people, more comfortable. There was no room for them to be ill, and when they did die, and die hard, without the proper medicines, the people they had broken their bodies to support didn’t care-because they always expected the servants they scarcely noticed to be swiftly replaced. All continued as before.  
She was hot and cold with rage, and something like guilt that she hadn’t seen it before. She thought falling in love would rescue her from those feelings…she thought she had found her red chord match like Harry and Dora, Harry whom she remembered having a crush on as if from another life, or a rumor she heard about another girl.  
Ms. Fridaythorpe looked down on her. She told herself not to feel it.  
“I’d like to change my classes,” Ginny said.  
“Dropping Potions?” Fridaythorpe said wearily, as if she heard it a million times.  
Ginny hated being mistaken for typical. “Actually, Potions is my best class,” she said. Remarkably, she had never been the target of one of Professor Snape’s legendary harangues. She just kept her head down and never asked questions. She was always surprised when he handed her graded essay back, that he actually knew who she was, so quiet was she in Potions.  
“That’s nice,” Ms. Fridaythorpe said with halfhearted sarcasm.  
“I’d like to drop Magizoology, for Political Science,” Ginny said.  
“Hmm…isn’t your mother a healer, out in the Vale?” Ms. Fridaythorpe said.  
“Yeah, why?” Ginny asked.  
“Why don’t we use that free hour for you to shadow Madam Pomfrey in the hospital wing, instead? By the time you finish school, you’ll have a First Degree in Healing. Some people never go any farther. You can set up in a village, or maybe even work at an apothecary,” Ms. Fridathorpe said.  
Ginny remembered the way her hands had shaken and her chest had gotten tight as she prepared her father’s medicines. It was, Ron and Mum had reminded her many times, the same process as making tea, but the stakes were much higher. She was so afraid to get it wrong. Her hands had smelled bitter and earthy when she was done. Ginny had a knack for Potions, but she didn’t want anything to do with medicine-that was Ron’s dream.  
“I don’t want to do that,” Ginny said.  
Ms. Fridaythorpe looked at Ginny as if she was wasting her time in a new and unflattering way.  
“Then what is it you want to do?” she asked.  
“Guild…stuff. Like, laws. Something to do with making laws. And…I want to take the Political Science classes, and any other diplomacy courses you’ve got,” Ginny said.  
“Oh. I see…well, that’s very interesting, Ms. Weezeby, but I’ve got your file here- I see your father was a Squib, a carpenter…your mother’s a healer, First Degree…yes, there’s nothing here in your family history to suggest a path like that. You just said that Potions is your favorite class. Wouldn’t you like to do something with Potions?” Ms. Fridaythorpe said.  
“What about the classes I actually wanted?” Ginny said impatiently.  
“Those are classes for well born young gentlemen who are going to sit on the Guild, not girls who should focus on Potions-and try to make something of themselves. I shouldn’t have to explain this to you,” Ms. Fridaythorpe snapped, raising her voice a little, and glaring at Ginny as if she was tired of a conversation that had been going on for a long time and was getting more and more unreasonable…although that hadn’t been the case at all. Ginny thought that life around Malfoy Manor had gotten her used to being treated like she didn’t matter…but this was worse. It was as if Ms. Fridaythorpe was mistaking her for someone else, as if her entire memory of the last few minutes was different than Ginny’s, but since she was an adult, with a job, and presumably not half a Squib from the cottages in the Vale, it was Ms. Fridaythorpe who would be believed….how Ginny had wasted her time, maybe shouted and been unreasonable, aggressive. Because, in truth, Ms. Fridaythorpe thought there were many Jenny Weezebys in the world, and Ms. Fridaythorpe wanted to spend as little time on them as possible-they should be left to each other, quite out of sight.  
Her father hadn’t been important enough, either, to the people he worked for…A voice nudged Ginny to tell Ms. Fridaythorpe that Sirius Black, the war hero, the Drakenberg survivor, had personally asked her to ‘get trained up’ in diplomacy so she could clerk for him over the summer…but, her stomach felt hollow, and she had no words, because there was no convincing a woman who didn’t see her as worthy, and never would.  
“Is there anything else?” Fridaythorpe said, her eyebrows knitted in an ugly way, sneering at Ginny with disbelief of some sort.  
Ginny shook her head, and left the office. She couldn’t remember what it had been like to be possessed, but she could just grasp the earliest days, when she still thought Tom was a Hogwarts student, and the other end of the red chord. Of course she didn’t miss him, but she wished there was someone waiting for her in the reflecting garden, someone who loved her as much as she’d thought Tom had, who would wrap their arms around her and make her feel strong and whole again.  
“Daddy,” she said under her breath, thinking of her big, strong, ginger-haired, freckle-armed father, the strong carpenter who used to pick her up and spin her. She missed him so much, her body hurt and felt weak and heavy. She wanted to matter to someone. Ginny went to a window overlooking the lake, which sparkled with sunlight. She put her hands to her face, and let the tears fall.  
“Do you want to be alone?” someone asked.  
What kind of daft question was that, Ginny wondered, and saw that it was Roger Shepherd beside her, the interesting Hufflepuff boy a year ahead of her, the president of Political Science club. He wasn’t beautiful, like Tom, nor had he saved her from a basilisk, like Harry, whom she thought she’d fallen in love with for that…but, there was something about him. She’d never heard anyone talk like him, about how life wasn’t fair.  
“Oh…I don’t know. Not really,” she said.  
“What’s wrong?” he asked.  
“Nothing,” she said, then sighed, and said, “That bitch, Fridaythorpe in the office. I got an offer to clerk for a Guildsman, so I wanted to chuck Magizoology for PoliSci, but she got her nose out of joint about it. Says I should stick to Potions, and shadow Madam Pomfrey so I can be a Healer. Because all poor girls dream of cleaning bedpans and changing bandages for a living, of course, right?”  
“What Guildsman?” Roger asked, with a serious frown of interest.  
“Sirius Black,” Ginny said.  
Roger nodded approvingly. “Whoa! That’s brilliant. Yeah, he really gets it, doesn’t he?”  
Ginny wasn’t sure what ‘it’ was, exactly, but nodded, and said, “Yeah, and he’s really nice, and funny, too. Actually, how he asked me was I was talking about Political Science club, and he said I should come round the Guild with him this summer, see how it goes, you know. We were at Quidditch, so…”  
“Well, Quidditch with a Guildsman. You travel in rarified circles, normally?” Roger said.  
Ginny laughed. “What? No! Oh, shit…I sound like some kind of posh, don’t I? No, its not like that…” she said.  
Roger laughed it off, and said, “Ginny, chill. I’m joking. I know you’re as real as they come,” Roger said.  
She thought that was a compliment. It was nothing like how Tom lavished her with praise of her beauty, or the fantasies she had entertained of being a lady like Dora, waltzing and strolling through topiary gardens with boys, champagne making her head light and the moonlight bright. But…didn’t it mean that Roger saw her ,and liked what he saw? She felt her earlier frustration at Fridaythorpe soothed. She felt like someone saw her.  
“I wouldn’t worry about her. She’s just a cog,” Roger said.  
“A…cog?” Ginny said.  
“This is a machine, we’re living in. Everything and everyone you see about you is apart of it. They whirr and turn, the cogs, and they keep the machine running. If girls like you are watching Quidditch with a Guildsman, and going to the Guild Hall instead of some stinky druggist’s shop after school, then the machine might just grind to a halt, or break, one day. Have you ever been round a computer, Ginny?” Roger asked.  
“Um, Harry’s got one, in his room, at Sirius’s house…I’ve played around with it, I was scared to do much with it,” she admitted. Roger gave her a warm smile, as if that was adorable, and then a satisfied nod.  
“Well,” he continued, “if you click too many things on a computer, that’s called creating requests. Too many requests back up the system, can crash the machine. If we keep making demands, we crash the machine.”  
He was sharing so much of what he believed with her, the way she had always wished Harry would confide in her about what it was like to slay monsters, and have nightmares, and know that Voldemort was out there, after him. She screwed up her courage, and in return offered him her pain.  
“That machine killed my father,” she said.  
He looked sympathetically shocked. Ginny continued, “My dad hasn’t got magic. He’s got a big family, and some have, some haven’t. He was a carpenter. He worked mostly for the Malfoys, but they hadn’t been paying like they should, for a while. My dad said not to worry about it. We could always get what we needed on credit because our name was good, and so many people owed Mum for caring for them. I didn’t like it, though…I don’t like it, at all. Living like that feels…shaky.”  
“Precarious,” Roger said wisely. “sorry, my brother’s a writer. He was always telling me to find a better word.”  
“Its all right,” Ginny said. “So, he had an accident. He fell, building a folly on the Malfoy estate.”  
“What’s a folly?” Roger asked.  
“It’s a tower. They’re meant to look like old ruined castles, or great Greek temples…they’re like garden decorations,” Ginny said. “The fall hurt him…and when Dragon Fever came through, he still wasn’t well from that. Mum tried…but it was too serious. We couldn’t go to a proper hospital….”  
Before she knew it, she was crying again. Roger put his arms around her, the way she had always wished someone would…the way Harry would Dora…the way she had longed for Tom to do, but his hands were so cold, everything about him was cold…Roger was warm, and interested in her, and clever, and forthcoming.  
He patted her back, and withdrew.  
“That’s bloody awful,” Roger said commiseratingly. “Things like that should never happen.”  
“Thank you,” she said.  
“Don’t cry, Ginny. You don’t have to take Political Science to be in the club. You might learn more, these days, just from the club,” Roger said.  
Ginny wiped her eyes and snuffled, and asked, “What d’you mean?”  
“Well, Professor Burbage has to stop a mile short of what she really wants to say, most of the time. Its precarious for her, being the Muggle Studies professor, too, you know. She can’t do or say anything controversial, because if she’s sacked the whole program will go. Ever since your friend Harry said Voldemort came back, the Guild’s been on red alert for anarchy, seeds of dissension, radical thought. It’s a good thing your mate Sirius got that measure passed to start a proper investigation of it all, through the Auror corps,” Roger said.  
“Oh…right,” she said. She hadn’t read about any measure to investigate if Voldemort was really back. She knew he was, by how pale Harry sometimes was when he came down to breakfast, the shadows under his eyes, proof of nightmares…  
“So, when do you start clerking for him, then?” Roger asked.  
“Um…sometime this summer,” Ginny said vaguely.  
She felt silly. Sirius treated life as a joke, or a thing laid out with several different parts meant to be put together for his amusement. He was probably having a laugh about her being his clerk. She didn’t know how she’d get up the nerve to ask him when she should start.  
“There should be an inquiry. There’s no doubt that man’s a terrorist, and he should be treated as one,” Roger said.  
He wasn’t some Slytherin toff who was half a Death Eater already, before graduation…Ginny figured anyone who wanted Voldemort brought to justice must be decent.  
“Look, here’s my brother, Gordie’s, zine. It’s called Vox-that’s Latin for voice. Everyone’s got a voice,” Roger said, and handed her a magazine out of his book satchel.  
“Thanks,” Ginny said. “Um…I’ve got Herbology, next-wanna walk to the greenhouse with me?”  
Roger smiled. “Sure,” he said.  
Ginny and Roger walked, as the corridor filled with students. She noticed Professor Fortune walk by, and waved hello, but her whole focus was on Roger Shepherd.

“I don’t like him,” Lily said, looking Roger Shepherd up and down.  
“Well, she’s a teenager, now-if you don’t hate her boyfriend, she ain’t growing the right way,” Fortune said, to the ghost beside him.  
Lily gave him her trademark disapproving scowl. “My mum adored Jamie! Well, she still does. They play backgammon without me. Backgammon, I ask you! Where did he learn that? Bloody Macao? Who is he, James Bond?”  
Robbie laughed. Lily loved taking the mickey out of her husband, James Potter, and wherever his shade was, Robbie knew he was delighting in his wife’s humor.  
“Reckon it was awkward, breaking it to him,” Robbie said.  
“Oh, about Rose?” Lily said. She shook her head. “No…you see, he’d been watching over me, the whole time. When I died too, I found that out. And, he didn’t blame or judge me for anything, for any of it. He loves Rose. I’m so scared for her, Robbie. I don’t want her or Harry finding out the truth the wrong way. You have to channel me, let me talk to them!”  
“I don’t have to do anything but die, Lils, much as a I love you,” Robbie said.  
Lily was fierce. Not for nothing had she been made a Prefect and Head Girl. There was something unimpeachable about her, a natural air of authority that never came off as petulance. “You know the rules, love. Harry’s 16, Ginny’s 15-no wizard can receive a visitation from a family ghost until they’re 17,” he told her.  
“I know…” she groaned. “But, look how the truth is being twisted, and used to hurt Harry. He thinks that Severus was culpable in my death, and its making him angrier with every passing hour. Anger unbalances-you taught him that, Robbie.”  
“Yes, and that part I can deal with, me and Remus, and Sirius,” Robbie said. “You tell me the rest of the story, Lils, and I’ll give it to them. But, Harry and Ginny aren’t ready to see you.”  
She looked stricken, the saddest woman Robert Fortune had ever seen. But, then she swallowed it, and she was the same tough girl who’d spent her summers roving the moors and the streets of their tiny village, the girl who had washed and doctored his face when his dad decked him, the girl who gave him, Severus, and Remus the mother love they needed when they needed it, whether that was a hug or a telling off.  
Lily nodded. This was Lily the Order of the Phoenix resistance fighter reasoning with Lily the mother, he could see on her face. The plan had steps, jettison the steps and you wreck the plan, and the mission.  
“Harry is being made vulnerable by this mystery surrounding my death,” Lily said. “How do you propose to fix that?”  
“Teaching him to protect his energy body,” Robbie said.  
Lily nodded, prompting for more, and Rob said, “Teaching him about how Dark Wizards use Mentalism. Got a lesson prepared for the whole class on that one, actually.”  
Lily said, “Good, good, I’m glad. They all need to know…but, what about the truth, Robbie? That it was all a bloody mistake, not a put up job. Do you think that will give him any peace? Close the weak spot Voldemort’s after?”  
“Lils…I don’t think Harry will see a distinction,” Robbie said, as they entered his empty classroom, and they closed the door.  
Natalie looked up from their lesson plan book, and said, “Oh, hi! Robbie, who’s your friend?”  
“Lily Evans, from Cokeworth. Told you about her,” Robbie said.  
“Oh, yeah, you did, but isn’t she….dead?” Natalie said.  
“Rumors of my death have been…well, I can’t finish that Mark Twain quote, can I? I am pretty dead. You must be Natalie. Robbie’s told me all about you. All good things,” Lily said.  
Natalie smiled, and said, “We really enjoy teaching your son, Harry. He has a grade of Exceptionally Exceeds Expectations, right now, and I wish I could give him something higher!”  
Lily smiled. “Thank you! Do tell him. I heard him say this weekend that all he’s good at is Quidditch. Now, Robbie, what do you mean, you don’t think that will clear things up with Harry? Telling him that Sev didn’t sell me out to Voldemort?”  
“Whoa…Snape didn’t betray you?” Natalie said. “I mean, I only worked with him a short time, before he was dismissed, but he definitely seemed like the ‘Dark Lord on Speed Dial’ type.”  
Lily shook her head, vehemently. “For a long time, he was. Robbie, you told Harry that Voldemort makes people’s dark wishes come true. That’s how he binds them to his side. Its true. When we were just kids, the Death Eaters were recruiting like mad here at Hogwarts, and in the village. Promising glory and freedom. They wanted my husband, Jamie, and our good friend, Sirius-two Pureblood heirs with more money than the devil. They told them where to put it, you can be sure. They have no time for the dark side. But…Sev was different. He had no money, no illustrious name…his mother’s family were petty healers, his father was a Muggle. He was brilliant, studied hard, and excelled, but no one noticed him except the wrong sorts, other disillusioned kids drawn to the dark side of magic,” she said.  
“So, he was a Death Eater,” Natalie said.  
“Yes. He started to fall into Voldemort’s rhetoric…and he must have met the man himself, at one point, but I don’t know when. I know it was shortly before the mine accident. A mine caved in, in our town. The one where Sev’s dad worked. He was human waste, Natalie, you wouldn’t believe….I was seldom allowed in the house, Sev would usually meet up with us, somewhere, in town, like the park…but the stories he told me…and he had bruises…his father was a monster, and his mother was afraid to leave. I believe, and Sev did too, that Voldemort caused that cave-in. He made Sev’s dark wish come true, that he and his mum could be free of his father’s abuse. For a long time, he served the Dark Lord in gratitude,” Lily said.  
“You believe that changed?” Natalie asked.  
“I know it did! Turns out, he kept an ear out for anything that might hurt me, or Remus: any plans to strike back against the Order of the Phoenix that might get us hurt. When he heard about the Phoenix Consurgens prophecy, he worked out that my baby was due under the sign of the Phoenix, and if it was a boy, it would be in danger. He got the information to the Order…and then, when the moment was right, he defected,” Lily said.  
“The tosser finally figured out he was on the wrong side,” Robbie muttered darkly.  
“He might have a thing for dark magic, but he wouldn’t hurt a child,” Lily said.  
“Um, his students would disagree. He’s a serial killer of adolescent self-esteem,” Natalie said.  
Lily and Robbie exchanged a look that said, ‘Can’t argue with that.’  
Lily continued, “We were safe at Orchard Grange, Jamie’s house, where we initially hid Harry, when he was born. But, his parents got Dragon Pox. This was before Ada Black’s research…it was still a very dangerous disease, and they had to quarantine. We didn’t think it was fair to move them, so Dumbledore arranged a safe house for me, Jamie, and Harry. But…they found it...Jamie told me to run, with Harry…I shouldn’t have left him.”  
Natalie gasped as James Potter, a lanky, boyish faced young man with messy brown hair and thin eyeglasses, appeared at his wife’s side, and put his arms around her. Lily lay her hand over his.  
“Now, Lils, don’t be hard on yourself. You were just doing as you were told, like you said you would in our vows. Honor and obey, and all that!” James joked. Natalie and Robbie laughed.  
“Oh, I could have scratched that vicar’s eyes out!” Lily said. “I forgot to specify I wanted amended vows, with that part cut out.”  
“Then, would we have been properly married? Life’s too full of mysteries as it is, Lily…” James said.  
She gave him a warm, grateful smile.  
“All right, mate?” Robbie said.  
“My situation cannot be improved upon, my friend. Its heavenly up here!” he said. “Oy, but can you tell Sirius to shave that mustache? It’s a little Village People, in’it?”  
Natalie laughed. “You’re just like everyone says!”  
“Oh, no, what have they been saying?” James said.  
“Only that you’re mad-but all the best wizards are,” Lily said. “How did you know I couldn’t tell the rest without you?”  
James’s expression was serious, now, his hazel brown eyes blazing with fierce love for Lily.  
“Where one of us ends, the other begins. That’s how it is, love,” he said unequivocally.  
“How were you always so sure of me, when I was never sure of anything?” Lily said.  
“You could have fooled the entire student body,” James said.  
“Ambition. Good grades. I found out pretty quickly that that’s not the same thing as knowing who you are. Oh, Jamie,” she said, and caressed his soft, kindly face. She turned back to Natalie and Robbie, and said, “Jamie died, that night. Voldemort killed him.”  
“Spoiler alert,” James said.  
“Be serious!” Lily said.  
“Can’t, I’m James. Sirius has a very prominent mustache, these days, don’t see how you got us mixed up,” James said.  
Lily smiled, although her eyes had a faint warning.  
“So, after that, I…I didn’t know where to go, really. I knew I couldn’t endanger Dumbledore or anyone else by Apparating straight to headquarters if Voldemort caught up with me, so I went to Sev. He was living in the Vale, then, not sure why he’s not allowed to, now,” Lily said. “I…shattered. It wasn’t just grief, or sadness. I couldn’t think straight- I had no bloody short term memory, I couldn’t talk, I just wanted to sleep, all day…and I would have, if I didn’t have Harry to look after. I wasn’t myself, it was like my mind was a puzzle, and I kept trying to put it back together but I couldn’t find all the pieces…”  
“Depression,” Natalie said.  
“Happens to the best of us, and the rest of us, love. You’re still The Unsinkable Lily Evans. Remember that time you told off my sister’s pimp boyfriend in front of the whole bloody council estate?” Rob said.  
“Yeah, well, Branwen deserved better than that rat bastard, didn’t she? Thank God she’s happy, now,” Lily said.  
“Yeah, thank God,” Robbie said. “that’s down to you, Lil.”  
“Aw, Robbie, come off it…” she said. “anyway….Sev was an immeasurable help to me then. Hid me out in his own home, me and Harry. He subtly implied to the Death Eater lot that he had a mistress who was a Squib peasant girl and a bastard child living with him, and neither me nor Harry ever came out, and no one took enough interest to look any further. He helped me care for Harry…made me draughts for mental agility, serenity, sleep, and I got to be more like myself, again. He was gone a lot, between his legitimate work at the Emerald Order, spying on the Death Eaters for the Order of the Phoenix, and serving as a physician to Tiberius Malfoy…but, when he was home…I mean, he was so lovely to me and Harry, and we had always been so close, as children. Before Voldemort, and all of that…”  
“They always fancied the Hell out of each other," Robbie said. "No offense, mate,” he added to James.  
“He fancied Ada Vaillancourt, didn’t he? Not me!” Lily said.  
“Oh, that Ada thing was just to make you jealous,” Robbie said.  
“Oh, and what about you and Sirius? Wasn’t that to make Sev jealous?” Lily fired back at Robbie.  
“Boarding schools! Jeez!” Natalie said.  
James nodded knowingly, and said, “Whatever you’re thinking, its true. Boarding schools are hotbeds of sexual exploration.”  
“Irrespective of whatever happened or how we felt in school…when I hid in the Vale with him…Severus and I….became intimately involved with each other. It was so soon after Jamie…” Lily said.  
“Hey-no shade, and no shame. You’re an adult, Lily, and who you sleep with and when is no one else’s to judge, okay?” Natalie said.  
“I needed to feel close to someone. He did too, I think. By that time, Ada Black had died, and whatever you say, Robbie, he was always mad for her,” Lily said. “They’d become scientists together, and I think it was…like a marriage for him. The only marriage he could have with a woman who was married to someone else. He missed her, and I missed Jamie with my whole body and soul. Well, I became pregnant. And that was the last piece of the puzzle that I had been trying to fit together. I knew I had to get my head on straight, and take care of myself, and get back to my real self…or, maybe even better than before. I’d heard what happened to the other Phoenix boys. I had to keep Harry safe, and stay alive so Rosie could be born. I started tentatively getting out into the neighborhood, among the peasants. I wanted to learn protective magic from the cunning women of the villages, how to protect the space around you the way Orchard Grange had its protective wards. That’s old Faerie magic, a wizard couldn’t duplicate it these days…but I got pretty bloody close.”  
“Awesome. I always heard you were one Hell of a witch,” Natalie said.  
“The best in our year,” James said.  
Lily smiled warmly at her husband, and then continued her story. “Rose was born. Rose Rowan Snape. I had to take a little time, and heal up, before I set off, but I felt like I knew enough to go on the run by myself with Harry and Rose. A spy’s life is too precarious. I couldn’t raise Harry constantly under Voldemort’s nose. But, Sev was so in love with Rosie, I felt guilty knowing I was going to take her with me. It wasn’t safe for her, either, living with a man who was going to be pretending to be a Death Eater for the foreseeable future…”  
“Separations, abrupt ones, were common during the war. You got back in touch when the coast was clear, no hard feelings,” James clarified, and Robbie nodded.  
“On our side, mate,” Robbie pointed out.  
“Severus was always…prideful. Or, maybe more like insecure. Either way, he took it as a devastatingly personal blow that I left, and took the children. I went to America. He found me, to plead with me to come back, and to confront me and tell me off-but it was all just messy, personal stuff. He had no idea that he was being followed by Death Eaters. It was an ambush, but for him as much as me. He’d taken down the wards that I and the Raven Wolf tribe had put up, but to talk to me, not to let Death Eaters through,” Lily said. “all he wanted was Rose. She was the only family he’d ever had, besides the parents that failed and hurt him. I think when I started to recover my mind, I was shocked at all I’d let Sev do for me, and I threw myself into the idea that I needed to take care of myself, and my kids, on my own. I didn’t let him into my plans, and I took his child. Children, rather. He loved Harry. He really adored him. Having a son around the house was a chance to give someone the love he didn’t get as a boy…and I took that away.”  
“Explains why he’s such a bitter biscuit,” Natalie said. “You think once Harry knows all this, he won’t want to kill Snape anymore, and Voldemort won’ be able to seduce him to the dark side?”  
“Look, Lil, I love you, and I love Harry, and that boy’s got a lot of you in him, but this isn’t the sort of story that’s going to make a 16 year old boy compassionate. Snape did pursue you, he did break your protective magic, which allowed the Death Eaters to get to you. He’s never been a man with a runaway bird taking his kids from under his nose, the complexities of that situation aren’t going to illicit his pity, all right? All he knows is that he never had a mother or a father, that he can remember, and his heart is full of rage, over that. This story won’t heal him,” Robbie said.  
“Neither will murdering Voldemort at the end of all this! Look, I may be dead already, but a dead witch is more than just a lowly ghost. I’ll do everything I can to make sure my son doesn’t plan his life around this ridiculous ‘kill or be killed’ prophecy, and become a murderer in the process!” Lily said.  
“What’s a murder? What is a murderer? We must ask ourselves that,” James said. “Does magic ask something of us, each time we use it? Is it an ocean, or is it what propels the wave?”  
“You sound like a bloody Ravenclaw, mate. Speak plain,” Robbie said.  
“All right. I don’t think everything under the sun can be prophesied. But, I do think that we are wizards, not men. No better, or worse than a Muggle, but with a design tweak they haven’t got. The universe moves through us and manifests in the magic we do, and I think that force plays a hand in our fate. I think it needs us to move things around, to act for it, to let it act through us. That force has brought my son and Tom Riddle in parallel opposition to each other…and I think there’s a good reason for that. Of course, we want Harry to survive this thing. I want him to have seven earthshakingly attractive children with Sirius’s adorable little niece, and die in his bed at the Grange on his 200th birthday…but, we must read the universe right to see to that,” James said.  
Lily sighed. “I know your thoughts about magic. But this isn’t about groovy Transfiguration theories. This is life and death. Harry’s life. And, there’s Rose…she doesn’t know who she is: in more ways than one.”  
“No one knows who they are, at Ginny’s and Harry’s age. I didn’t even know that I had magic, at their age. I had no idea until my Mom was murdered by a Dark wizard my sister had gotten close to, a cult leader who preyed on her. I wanted to learn magic to protect myself, and I got to know Robbie when my sister hired him to ward our house. Before that, I was…normal. I went to Catholic school, I played soccer. What I mean is, nothing is set in stone when you’re this young, and nothing should be. Maybe being here at Hogwarts, being told that the decisions you make now are going to shape the kind of wizard you turn out to be, is limiting, and too much pressure,” Natalie said.  
The three Hogwarts graduates weighed her words in their hearts, silently.  
James Potter looked into Natalie’s eyes with respect and understanding. He seemed to agree with her.  
“Lil and I have to pop back behind the Veil. We’ve stayed a bit too long. Have to make it snappy, as a ghost, you know. But, let’s have a board game night at your place, all right? Monopoly, Scrabble,” James said. “Harry used to love Hungry, Hungry Hippos.”  
“Ooh, I love that one. Don’t Spill the Beans is great, and Don’t Break the Ice,” Natalie said.  
“Board games are terribly bossy. See you later, Robbie. Lovely to meet you, Natalie,” Lily said. She and James disappeared in a waving flare of light. Shortly after the ghosts departed, students streamed into the classroom for Defense Against the Dark Arts.


	45. Chapter 45

“Wot’cha tryin’ to do, Harry?” Hagrid said, deepening his voice a timbre to halt Harry from throwing the heavy fur off and getting out of bed.  
“Hagrid, I have to go back to the castle. Me and Dora, we’re….looking into something, together,” Harry said.  
“I’ll just bet ya are,” Hagrid said, with a bemused chuckle. “You’re gone over her, aren’cha? You’re just like yer Dad. He was always crazy about yer mum, even when they were just wee lil’ firs’ years.”  
Harry smiled. “He waited a long time for her,” he said.  
“Sure did! Trouble is, he was shy,” Hagrid said. “Not the kind of shy like where ya can’t talk, the sort where all you says comes out the opposite of how ya meant it. I think it was over bein’ a mandrake.”  
“A…what? Like the plant?” Harry said.  
“I figured Sirius woulda told ya! Yeah, your dad…his parents were getting’ on in years, and hadn’t had any kids, but they wanted one, so they made him out of a mandrake. It can be done, but its rare, and its tricky. There’s a ritual and all, I reckon, that you say, and mandrakes, well, they look humanish as it is, have voices and all. You do this bit of magic, turns ‘em perfectly human. Well, your dad felt diff’rent, cause of it, I think. Guess that’s why we got on so well, both of us being not all together human,” Hagrid said.  
“Hagrid…no one ever told me that,” Harry said.  
He didn’t know what to say. He had learned more about his parents in the last fortnight than he had all the years before it. They were not just two static, beautiful young people in a wedding photograph, anymore. His father was shy, his mother was fierce…his father had died protecting her, and she had lived, as he had fought for. Lived, and run to America, given birth to Harry’s sister, died betrayed by one of her best friends…he knew all of this now, but still they were no closer, their voices, their eyes, their touch were beyond him.  
Dora knew how he felt. They were both retracing their parents’ steps, trying to find out who they were.  
“They were good people,” Hagrid said, as if he knew what was on Harry’s mind. He patted his back.  
“There’s so much I want to ask them,” Harry said.  
“You know the important stuff, I think: how much they loved ya. They died fer ya, Harry,” Hagrid said.  
Harry looked into Hagrid’s warm brown eyes, and smiled.  
“You’re right, Hagrid,” Harry said.  
“Rest easy, Harry,” Hagrid said lovingly. 

“I hired one of those…agents. Solicitors? People who assess your property, and such,” Sirius said, walking into the kitchen of the cottage as Remus took out a peach cobbler from the oven. Chopping the Summerland peaches had made him slightly sad-who knew when they would be able to find Faerie Country fruit like this, again?  
“Oh, to see about Grimmauld Place?” Remus said, bending over to take the dish out of the oven. Sirius gave him a lovingly hard spank on the bottom.  
“Sirius!” Remus scolded. “I could have dropped the pan and burned myself!” He stood up to face a smirking Sirius, leaning on the counter. Sirius detected real displeasure in Remus’s eyes.  
“What’s wrong?” Sirius asked.  
“Nothing. Do you think the children would like dinner at home? I could run up in the car and fetch them,” Remus said.  
“Oh, you miss them, do you?” Sirius said, fondly, and relieved. “they fill the house in a different way, don’t they? A nice, loving feeling.”  
“Yes, indeed,” Remus said. “did you see Lucy’s and Dora’s faces as we watched films? I saw the girls having a little sword fight with empty paper towel rolls and saying, ‘I am Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die!’ this morning, before school!”  
Sirius laughed. “Sounds like they finally got to be kids,” he said. “And Harry loves the Grange. I can tell he feels at home there, and so do Dora and Lucy.”  
“There is one spot of this weekend that could have been improved upon,” Remus said  
“Yeah? Did we overdo it at Merlini’s? All those carbohydrates. Pasta makes me a tad too Epicurean,” Sirius said.  
“Not the bloody pasta, Sirius!” Remus said, taking his oven mitts off. “What possessed you to tell Harry all about Lily’s death over the weekend, the night before he goes back up to school? He’s walking around, carrying that inside, now.”  
“Look, we’ve sat on the truth long enough, haven’t we? Silence just gives perpetrators a hall pass,” Sirius said. “Dumbledore used to think Snape was trustworthy, and he wanted us to go along. We don’t have to any longer-Dumbledore’s sacked him.”  
“So, you did this out of spite?” Remus asked.  
“No! We were discussing Dora,” Sirius said. “We both know it’s quite serious, with Harry and Dora. Not just the red chord…they’ve made up their minds about each other. I’m sure he’ll be whipping an engagement ring out his pocket as soon as they’re both 17, and I can’t see her refusing. Just like Lily and James…”  
“No, they are not Lily and James all over again. The past doesn’t just repeat itself with new players. That’s not how life works, Sirius!” Remus said.  
“They’re deeply in love, Remus, and Harry was asking me how we could best protect her. He asked me about Snape…and I just thought giving him the whole truth about Snape would show him it doesn’t matter if that sniveling, sycophantic bastard says he loves a woman, he’d still give her over to his beloved Dark Lord. He proposed marriage to my underage niece, you’ll recall, and who knows what his motivations truly were?” Sirius said.  
Remus sighed.  
“I understand that. But, Sirius…children grow up way too fast in your world. Betrothals, marriage proposals…falling so deeply in love so young, inappropriate attachments with people twice their age…maybe in the Vale or Londinium this is the norm, but where I’m from, these years are about school, hanging out with your mates, eating junk food, dancing to whatever hot song is on the radio, figuring yourself out and having a bit of fun. You ran over this scenario with Harry as if he was a man, and Dora’s husband, when in reality they’re both just kids. James burned through life quickly, too: a father, a husband, and fighting the war all by the time we were just 21. I don’t want Harry to do so much living that he doesn’t stop to breathe,” Remus said.  
“James chose Lily, and he chose to fight,” Sirius said. “Fate keeps throwing these things in Harry’s path: Riddle, Dora. He didn’t choose, it was handed to him. I rather thought it was our job to help him sort it out. I told him the truth!”  
“Maybe,” Remus said  
“Maybe?” Sirius asked.  
“We don’t really know as much as we could about Lily’s last days, do we? And we don’t know all we could about how Harry got from Washington State in the US to an orphanage in London,” Remus said.  
“Lily thought she could trust your old pal, Snivellus. She was pregnant, traumatized, and out of her mind with grief. When she wised up, she ran. What do you think happened next? What else could have happened next, Moony?” Sirius said.  
“We don’t know as much as we could,” Remus repeated. “I just hope assuming that your version of events is true doesn’t cause Harry more pain.”  
Sirius put his arms around Remus, and slipped his hands into the back pockets of Remus’s chinos. Their bellies touched, there was just a sliver of air between their noses, and they were close enough to kiss.  
“The last thing I want to do is cause any of the children more pain,” Sirius said.  
“Then treat them like children,” Remus said gently. “We protect them. That’s our job.”

Harry walked back up to the castle after Hagrid had talked him into another bowl of maybe-beef stew, and hot tea with milk. Feeling warm on the inside and genuinely stronger, Harry walked under the stars just beginning to poke out. The weather was final beginning to feel like spring.  
Soon it would be Beltane, the spring celebration, which always brought out cheer in the village, with its flower parades, Maypole dance, and parties celebrating handfasting ceremonies performed over bonfires. Music filled the streets of Hogsmeade that day, celebrating the return of spring.  
Harry glanced over at the Quidditch pitch. Hufflepuff was practicing. Harry noticed Geoff Winnington, the Montrose scout, standing by the sidelines. The last thing Harry wanted to talk about was a Quidditch career, right now. He continued up to the castle. He had missed all the day’s classes save for Astronomy, later at midnight.  
“Harry!”  
He looked over at who had called, it was his little neighbor Delilah Summerscale.  
“Harry, this is a message from Professor Fortune!” she said, and then jogged away, breathlessly.  
“Thanks, Delilah!” he said. He opened the envelope.  
“Meet me on the edge of the forest after Astronomy,” said the note.  
Harry sighed. He felt uncommonly tired, again. He hoped he would at least be able to meet up with Ron, Hermione, and Dora to go over the Blacks’ files in the library.  
One of the staircases he needed had disappeared, and the other unmoored itself and shifted directions as he was walking, but Harry adjusted his route a little and just made it to the library.  
‘Hogwarts needs an elevator,’ he thought, but figured if it did it would come with a ghostly lever puller, like in ‘The Shining’.  
He opened the door to the library. Roger Shepherd was standing at the head of a carpet between two aisles of shelves, speaking. Several students were sitting on a carpet, listening to him, enrapt. Two of them, he saw, were Ginny and Dora.  
“Tom Riddle could not have happened without the complicity of the top one percent of our society,” Roger said.  
The students seated at his feet clapped.  
“He is, like man in so many myths of creation, a lesser being created in the image of something bigger than himself,” Roger said. “Many hands made him, the same hands around the throat of the non-humans, of the Squibs, the Muggleborns, the Half-bloods, women…”  
Each word in his list was delivered with a punch in his voice that got more applause.  
Harry stopped and watched.  
“They. Are. Complicit! He’s their monster, and he’s their tool, just another scary story they tell us to instill fear, to keep us in our place,” Shepherd said. “They want him back, make no mistake. Slytherin coven wants Voldemort, as Riddle calls himself, back…”  
More clapping. This must have been the Political Science club. Harry had neve seen a meeting, before.  
“Harry!” Dora said, noticing him. She got off the carpet, and walked over to the shelf where he stood.  
“So, what happened to Botany Club?” Harry asked.  
“Well, Ginny asked me to come to Political Science club with her,” Dora said. They spoke quietly-it was, after all, a library. “Are you feeling better?”  
“Yeah, Hagrid gave me a solid dinner, so I think I’m on the mend,” Harry said.  
“What happened, love?” Pandora asked, her gray eyes filled with concern.  
“I…saw him. Voldemort. In this strange place…there was a tower, and hills, and a chalk horse. Like something made by druids. That could be anywhere in Britain, I reckon,” Harry said.  
“Yes, but all the same, we should try to locate it. Chalk horse…there are many old druid sites, but some are secret, hidden to Muggles, concealed, and are only used by wizards on feast days to the old gods,” Pandora said.  
Harry nodded. “We can research it,” Harry said. “Hermione loves a project like that.”  
There were more punchy slogans and more applause from the carpet.  
“What do you make of Shep?” Harry asked.  
“Oh, I don’t know. The extent of my knowledge about Political Science is my Uncle Lucius and his friends’ jokes at dinner,” Dora said.  
“Nice try. What do you make of Shep?” Harry asked again.  
“I think he’s saying a lot of things…but, really, he’s not showing a lot of depth. He’s just sort of catering to what people are already angry about,” Pandora said.  
“He asked me to do an interview with his brother’s magazine. About how I don’t believe in the prophecy. Said it would help dispel superstition. Said I owed the families of the other Phoenix Consurgens boys,” Harry said.  
“You don’t owe anyone anything,” Dora said.  
“Did you know, about the other little boys? I never knew…” Harry said. Dora put her hand to his cheek, and he leaned into her touch.  
“Harry, its not your fault,” Dora whispered lovingly. Harry leaned in to kiss her, but Shep called, “Harry!”  
“Glad you decided to sit in,” Shep said. “And see what we’re about. Do you have anything to add?”  
Ginny’s dark, starry eyes stared at him intently. He didn’t want to let her down. She needed this, for some reason.  
“I think things are more complicated than that,” Harry said. “Yeah, a lot of Voldemort’s core support are Slytherin, and wealthy. But, that’s not the whole story. What he is, is a hypocrite, who’ll use anybody no matter who they are, or where they come from. He tells people what they want to hear, and makes their dark wishes come true to get them to follow him. My mum was Muggleborn, he wanted her on his side. She said no. She stood up to him, and that made an enemy out of him. He murdered her. He has nonhumans on his side, he’s got people of all sorts. He seduces, he uses.”  
Ginny’s almost dark brown eyes drank in his words-he was, after all, speaking of the man who had possessed her, almost compelled her to commit murder.  
“So, you’re letting the rich off the hook?!” demanded Posy Larch, her face screwed into ferocious anger.  
Several people shouted over each other.  
“What?” Harry snapped.  
Posy looked at him with a leveling glare, and said, “So, you think that entrenched, systematic, institutionalized bigotry in the system, perpetuated by the wealthy, is nothing to worry about?!”  
“You heard what I said!” Harry fired back.  
More shouting broke out.  
“Hey! Pipe down!” Roger said. For him, they turned silent.  
“Look, all points of view are welcome, here,” Shep said condescendingly. “Harry, thanks for sharing, mate.”  
Ginny got up off the carpet, and went over to Harry and Dora. They walked through the shelves, getting a healthy distance between them and the Political Science Club.  
“What happened back there? What did she hear? Did she hear anything I said?” Harry said.  
“Calm down!” Ginny said sharply.  
“Its unfortunate that they haven’t considered this from a more magically sophisticated perspective,” Pandora said. “I think you made a very succinct point about the Death Eaters’ modus operandi. We certainly started seeing all sorts in and out of the Manor, after the Tri-Wizard Tournament…”  
“Posy’s a cow. She’s just trying to get Rog’s attention,” Ginny insisted.  
“Oh? Is his attention elsewhere?” Pandora said.  
“Yeah…well….you know. He’s interesting,” Ginny said.  
“Interesting? Look, pointing your wand and yelling ‘Eat the rich!’ isn’t going to fight off a Death Eater. This isn’t about money,” Harry said.  
“Everything’s about money! Who’s got the money and who doesn’t is the difference between living and dying,” Ginny said heatedly, her eyes darkening almost to black as she stared at him with heated intensity.  
“Ginny, dear, don’t get upset,” Dora said.  
“Why shouldn’t I? Your Uncle treated my father as no better than a slave…and I’m tired of acting like is just the way things are! It matters! It does! Our lives matter!” Ginny said.  
Roger came over. He put his arms soothingly around Ginny, and said something soft and soothing into her cinnamon red hair. Then he looked up, and said to Harry,  
“Look, I appreciate you coming tonight, but that’s enough, okay? Gin’s not up for any dramatics tonight,” Roger said.  
“Yeah? Then maybe she should chuck you, then. Throw in dinner with that floor show up there?” Harry said, pointing to the carpet square where Roger had stood.  
“We talk out different points of view, in the club,” Roger said calmly.  
“You talk-everyone else applauds your every syllable. I didn’t hear anything too enlightening, myself,” Harry said.  
“Then maybe this should be the last time you sit in. You’re welcome any time, Pandora,” Roger said.  
“Oh, that’s lovely of you, really, but with Debate club, Botany club, and Advanced Potions-you know, the Alchemy course-I’m a bit overextended, as it is,” Dora said primly.  
“Well…” Roger said. “All right, then. Sorry to have lost you both. Gin, you okay?”  
Ginny sniffed, and wiped her nose. “Fine,” she said, but Harry wasn’t convinced.  
“Can I walk you up to Gryffindor?” Roger said.  
Harry wanted to intervene, but he was on thin ice with Ginny, and he couldn’t press.  
It wasn’t like he was her brother. Roger and Ginny walked off, his arm around Ginny.  
“Let’s go up to Alchemy, wait for Ron and Hermione. We said we’d get together around seven,” Dora said.  
“Got the file?” Harry asked.  
“And the Tabula…just in case it has more to reveal,” Dora said. “Harry…finding out about the other boys, I can tell it’s changed a lot for you.”  
“Dora…its all right. Let’s focus on your parents,” Harry said.  
“So that you don’t have to think about the Phoenix Boys?” she said.  
“That would be nice, yeah,” Harry said.  
“Harry! When you bottle a scream, it comes out some other way. And, I can see the scream in your eyes,” Dora said. “I can feel it in our connection. Don’t poison yourself with your pain.”  
Harry exhaled, feeling his shoulders sag. He looked at Dora, and tried to find the words to tell her how he felt.  
“I have to keep going. All I can think is that I have to keep going,” Harry said.  
Dora reached for his hand, “Yes, of course. But, don’t ask too much of yourself.”  
“They shouldn’t have died, any of them. And people like Roger, they don’t understand,” Harry said.  
“I understand,” Pandora said. “I do.”  
Her tone was imploring, her eyes intense, like a gray eyed goddess visiting a Greek hero the dawn before a battle. She gave him strength. This was his brave Dora, who had left a Death Eater household, and fought by his side. He trusted her, and was so grateful to have her by his side.  
“I know,” he said, but felt as if he was saying, ‘I love you’. They went upstairs to the Alchemy wing of the library.


	46. Chapter 46

“A chalk horse, and a barrow? That sounds like one of the sights of the Ridgeway,” Hermione said. “There are a lot of ancient sites along the trail-Stone Henge, the Uffington chalk horse, Wayland’s Smith, Dragon Hill…”  
“Dragon Hill?” Pandora said blankly.  
“Where St. George supposedly slayed the dragon,” Ron said.  
“Dragon? Voldemort believes he’s descended from Melusina, the Queen of Dragons, through Salazar Slytherin,” Harry said. he remembered, and said, “The heir of Slytherin…”  
Ron looked at Dora, and explained, “In our second year, there was a strange monster loose on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. It took livestock, Faerie and wizard children. Everyone thought it was an ogre, at first.…these Slytherin girls thought it would be funny to lure Ginny out to the woods, since the old wive’s tale goes that ogres eat redheaded girls. Anyway, she fancied Harry back then, so they left a note, saying it was from him, asking her to meet him at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The basilisk took her to its lair in the Fens at the edge of the forest. But, we found her.”  
“How?” Dora asked.  
“Harry has Parseltongue-he can speak to snake-like creatures, and sort of get into their heads, and talk to them that way, too, like Mentalism. He managed to distract it long enough for us to get to Ginny,” Ron said.  
“He saved her life,” Hermione said proudly.  
“How did you kill it?” Dora asked.  
“There was a sword…in the water,” Harry murmured reluctantly.  
“The Lost Sword of Godric Gryfiindor! It presented itself to him in the rancid waters of the Fens, where all sorts of creatures live. That’s when everyone started calling him the Heir of Gryffindor…but, proving that would require a full genealogical report from one of those firms,” Hermione said.  
“Oh, shall I get a suit done on Saville Row while I’m at it? I hate all of that lineage stuff. Look, I was thinking about what Voldemort said, when he possessed Ginny, about a serpent and a snake being the same, just a difference in perspective. Dragon Hill…he must be interested in something there. That name, it can’t be a coincidence,” Harry said.  
“There is the St. George legend, and the legend of the smith god Wayland, as well as the connection between Stone Henge and Merlin…and all these sites are within miles of each other, along the Ridgeway Trail…but, how do they connect to each other, and back to Harry and Voldemort?” Hermione said.  
“The horse,” Ron said.  
“The chalk horse?” Hermione asked.  
“What do you know about the Chalk Horse?” Pandora asked Hermione.  
“Bronze Age carving….visible from Stone Henge…possibly connected to Solstice rites on Stone Henge….oh, yes, hang on! The horse is connected to pre-Saxon Celtic sun deities! On Solstice days, the sun appears to gallop along the carving of the horse, and then strike the center of Stone Henge! Do you think Voldemort is planning something there, on the Solstice? That’s months away, and at any rate he wouldn’t have shown Harry,” Hermione said.  
“Maybe that was the whole point,” Harry said darkly. “When Ginny attacked me at Buttershaw Hall, in Dumbledore’s office, afterwards, he told me that Voldemort wanted my blood, for something. Then, there were the Succubi, another attempt to….um….”  
“Harvest genetic material?” Hermione suggested. Ron made a disapproving grimace.  
“He wants me there. But, he wants me to want it, too. That’s what all this Snape business is about, trying to get me to do him in, to turn me dark. He wants to lure me there. If he can turn me dark before the Solstice, in June, then his work is done for him,” Harry said.  
Dora, Ron, and Hermione swallowed this, their expressions grave.  
“We don’t know anything for sure,” Hermione assured him. “I’ll look into the history of the Ridgway. There are many barrows there, where kings, warriors, and priests were buried with treasure. Maybe there is an artifact that Voldemort wants to steal, there. He may need your blood to open a tomb or break a spell. There are many magical methods of storage that work that way, and will only open at the presence of blood, from someone that meets certain criteria.”  
“Like the vaults at the City of Temples,” Pandora said.  
“What’s the City of Temples?” Harry asked.  
“Well, for Pureblood families that keep the old gods, there is a sort of necropolis of family temples. People are buried there, but they are also where you go to pray to your ancestors, if you need to, and things are stored there, in vaults of each family’s mausoleum. I shall have to go soon, actually, to the Black family temple, when I turn 17. You just sort of look in, make sure everything is as it should be,” Pandora said. She sounded embarrassed.  
“Is it in Londinium?” Hermione asked.  
“Yes,” she said.  
“Well, we’ll start looking into the Ridgway as soon as possible, but for now, let’s concern ourselves with that file. There may be more information on the Blacks’ work after Hogwarts, which could further explain why Voldemort may be interested in Dora. Have you noticed anyone suspicious around the castle, village, or the cottage?” Hermione said.  
“No, no one like a kidnapper. All I have to go on, at this point, is how distressed Severus seemed when he proposed to me. I have never seen him so agitated, he is generally ever the Stoic. He genuinely believed the Dark Lord to be a danger to me, in a particular way,” Pandora said.  
“When he….what?” Ron said.  
Pandora shrank bashfully. “Well…yes, he asked me to be his wife, and fly with him on an alchemical expedition of indefinite length, to evade Voldemort.”  
“You’re 16!” Hermione said.  
“Well…in the Vale, that is not so uncommon. My Aunt Narcissa was 15 when she married my uncle, Lucius, and Anthea was born shortly after,” Pandora said.  
Hermione glowered, and shook her head. “Dora, I can assure you that’s not normal, nor is it right. In the Muggle world, child marriage is a violation of the United Nations rights of children!” she said.  
“Purebloods have…a rather different view of things. But, their views are not mine any longer, if ever they were,” Pandora said.  
“Its okay. We know you don’t agree with all that,” Harry said. “Let’s have a look at those files.”  
They opened Mrs. Black’s file first. It was headed with a photograph of her, the first Harry had ever seen of Ada Black. The photo showed her to be a stunning beauty, with skin a shade or two darker than her daughter's, with a striking luster like a dark, polished gem. Her eyes were the same round shape as Pandora’s, but were a starry black rather than Dora’s gray eyes, a pronounced trait of her father’s family. She had Dora’s proud posture and long, full, curly hair. Her expression was one of determination and a quality of force and passion in her eyes that rendered her mysteriously interesting.  
The notes of her file revealed much of what they already knew-that she was in Ravenclaw Coven and school house, that she was a talented student of Alchemy, and entered the Emerald Order at the age of 18, and married at that same age. Ada’s Philosopher’s Stone led to her ability to create a potent Dragon Pox antidote, and she seemed to have contributed to many other important research projects of the Order, attaining the rank of alchemical Master, one step away from being a Presbyter. Her career was a sterling one, it seemed. However, as Pandora turned the pages, a thoughtful frown between her gray eyes, and her hands a bit shaky to be holding documentation of her mother’s life, she reached a handwritten letter on parchment.  
The letter read,  
‘It is my view that Master Black’s shortsightedness on the issue of the creation of the Wand of Honorius reveals an attitude towards life and science that is still maturing, and at a pace rather short of her prodigious talent. Bells cannot be unrung. When we create objects that unequivocally destroy and have no other application, we task humanity with the cumbersome negotiation of these objects' existence, and the generational impact of their use when and where they are deployed. Master Black’s lack of consideration of alchemy’s potential for destruction is not a sin on her part, it is the flaw in the design of an inherently analytical mind. She is young. Hogwarts may yet benefit from her mind one day…’  
“That’s Dumbledore’s handwriting,” Ron said.  
“So, he was considering hiring your mum to be a professor,” Harry said.  
“Yes, but he seemed a little upset with her, over this Wand of Honorius thing. It sounds like a dangerous object,” Hermione said.  
Dora looked as if she was holding her breath. Her eyes were stunned, and thoughtful.  
“Sirius told me that Dumbledore, Flamel, and Sinistra all resigned from the Emerald Order. There was some kind of coup, and a lot of alchemists were pushed out. Maybe it had something to do with this Wand of Honorius,” Harry said.  
“Yes…Dumbledore seemed to think my mother’s vote to create it was rash…what if those who left the Order were those who thought this object was too dangerous to be attempted?” Dora said. She sighed. “I was always told that my mother was gentle, a dear, a dove. The woman I have been hearing about, these last few weeks, the woman on these pages, was…a Titan, not a dove.”  
Harry knew the feeling. His parents had transformed for him in the same way.  
“Maybe you gotta split the difference,” Ron said. “I mean, you know Ginny.”  
“What do you mean?” Harry asked.  
“Well, she’s ferocious on the Quidditch pitch, but off it she can be quiet as a mouse, if she’s got nothing to say, but if she does she can get just as loud or rude as a boy…but she also loves Pygmy Puffs. Go figure. Your mum was complicated; everyone’s complicated,” Ron said.  
Pandora nodded, and gave Ron a grateful smile. “Well, it looks as if she and Dumbledore fell out…but, he still thought she could make a good Hogwarts professor, given time. She just didn’t have time.”  
Harry took her hand, and lovingly squeezed it.  
“Maybe silphium had something to do with the Wand of Honorius,” Harry said. “If it’s a powerful weapon, Riddle will definitely want it.”  
“Dora…do you think you could sort of subtly find out more, under the guise of asking Sinistra more about your mother?” Hermione asked.  
“Maybe…she is my head of house. I can see her about…career advice,” Pandora said.  
Hermione and Ron nodded as if this idea was perfectly adequate.  
“All right…are you ready to look at your father’s file?” Hermione asked.  
Pandora looked into Harry’s eyes. He felt as if they were alone. He felt their mental connection open like a roof to the sky, letting in profuse fresh air and light. He tried to use this open window to send her all the love he could, love and strength such as she had given him.  
“Yes,” she said.  
Hermione nodded. Ron was making a list. Harry wished he had thought of the same. It said, in scribbly shorthand  
‘Ridgeway, Solstice, blood (connection? Buried object?)  
Order of Trismegistus: Dumbledore, Sinistra, Flamel resigned. Wand of Honorius-object. Silphium?’  
These were all plausible connections. If Flamel had taken the silphium with him upon resigning, then it was plausible that he had done so to stop it from being used in the creation of an object he felt was so dangerous that he seemed to have morally objected to it.  
Dora opened her father’s file. Harry had been right about his estimation of Regulus Black’s looks. He was a more willowy edition of his brother, Sirius, with a solemn face devoid of Sirius’s mischievous smirk and the naughty glint in his gray eyes. Both brothers had patrician handsomeness, and waving dark hair that graced their shoulders, and coupled with Regulus’s slender face and grave expression, he had an androgyny to his good looks that Sirius did not. He could have been an archangel in a Renaissance painting, or Joan of Arc painted in the hours before her martyrdom. Harry saw Regulus, now, in Dora’s cheekbones, and her expression, composed and thoughtful.  
“He’s so young!” she gasped. “and he looks like Draco, but dark, rather than blonde.”  
That had not occurred to Harry. He peered again at Sirius’s brother, and supposed he did see a bit of Dora’s cousin, his former Quidditch rival, in Regulus’s gray eyes, mouth, and thin neck and face.  
They read his file. Regulus was in Slytherin, and to Harry’s surprise he, like Harry, had played Seeker on Slytherin’s schoo Quidditch team. Sirius had mentioned that Flamel was a family friend who encouraged Regulus’s talent in science, and this bore out: he had become an Emerald Order apprentice at their own age, 16, while still studying at Hogwarts. Dora’s eyes widened, impressed, when she scanned this information. Nothing in Regulus’s file indicated that he had joined the ranks of Lord Voldemort…but, Snape had never been decried, tried, or charged, either. Instead, the notes of Regulus’s file ticked off similar achievements to his wife, but there was no mention either way of his vote on the Wand of Honorius.  
Harry noticed something. There was a date of birth, but no date of death, for Regulus Black. At the back of the file was a handwritten note. It said only, ‘Vampire-do not make contact. Sighted in Londinium.’  
Ron, Harry, Hermione, and Dora looked from each other, back to the note, several times.  
“What does that mean?” Dora said, pointing to the letter as if it was a Pygmy Puff that had somehow grown razor sharp teeth.  
“Your father…it seems he’s a vampire, now,” Hermione said.  
“Could Snape have turned him into one? He is a ghoul…” Ron said.  
“It’s the other way around, Ron,” Hermione said. “Vampires turn people into Ghouls…”  
“Wait…so, Regulus isn’t dead, he’s a Vampire, Snape, who was once his alchemy partner, is a Ghoul…” Harry said. “So, if Snape is serving a Vampire, could it be Regulus?”  
“My father? Why would my father send Severus to seduce me? And run away with me?” Pandora said, an outraged edge in her voice. “This file can’t be right. Everyone always tells me that my father couldn’t live without my mother. I always assumed that meant that he’d…taken his own life, after she died.” It was clear that those words were hard for her to say, out loud.  
“But, did anyone ever expressly tell you that, Dora?” Hermione asked.  
Dora paused, clearly thinking about it. She said nothing, but shook her head.  
“Do you think Sirius would tell you more, Harry?” Ron asked.  
“It would tip him off, that we were looking into Regulus and Ada, he’d get concerned for Dora,” Harry said.  
“Even if he was a Vampire…why did he leave me? If he’s alive, why would he leave me?” Pandora said.  
Harry put his arms around her, stroked her shoulder. It felt good to focus entirely on Dora, on taking away her pain as best he could with something as simple as touch, and not think about Voldemort’s whispers to him, the way his voice had traveled beneath Harry’s skin like the voice of a snake…  
“We’ll figure it out. We’re missing a lot of pieces right now,” Harry assured her.  
She nodded, looking into his eyes.  
“There’s still a lot to unpack here,” Hermione said. She reached across the table, and with her fierce brown eyes, she willed Dora’s gaze to her’s. “But, we will unpack it. Dora, we’re here. We’re your friends.”  
Dora looked touched, but surprised.  
“What you thought we were just being polite to you, because of Harry? Dora, we like you,” Hermione said.  
“I knew you first, didn’t I, before I even met that runty tosser,” Ron said, and ruffled Harry’s hair. Dora and Hermione laughed.  
“No one has ever said anything like that to me, before. Thank you,” Dora said.  
“I’ll slip these files back into Ms. Fridaythorpe’s mail basket, on her desk,” Hermione said.  
“Won’t she make a fuss?” Dora asked.  
“She’s a right old snob. She would never suspect a Prefect of anything untowards!” Hermione said.  
“More’s the better, then,” Ron said. “We’ll both go, say it was sent by us from a Professor.”  
Hermione agreed, and she and Ron headed down the library stairs. They passed Lucy, who was jogging up the stairs.  
“I got an owl from Remus! He’s coming to pick us up, in the car, for dinner!” she said. “I hope we watch a film, afterwards. He was telling me about a very good one called “Pan’s Labyrinth”.”  
Harry was surprised, but not unpleasantly so. He and Dora gathered their book satchels, and followed Lucy.

Although they did their best to be cordial, even jocular, as they all watched the Wizarding World Network news report, followed by a quiz show Remus enjoyed, then ate a dinner of scalloped potatoes and steamed okra, followed by peach cobbler for dessert, Harry could tell Sirius and Remus had been rowing. They were trying as valiantly not to show it as Dora was not to let on that she’d learned her father was undead, and Harry that he was hearing Voldemort’s voice, although something in Sirius’s and Remus’s expression told him that Fortune had owled them.  
“I’ll do the dishes,” Harry volunteered, after they’d eaten.  
“I’ll dry,” Sirius said brightly.  
“Doctor Lupin, I saw some summerberry bushes along the lane, as we were driving. Shall Dora and I pick them?” Lucy asked.  
“Wonderful! It feels lucky to find Fae fruit growing wild, doesn’t it? I’ll come with you,” Remus said.  
‘Here it comes…’ Harry thought.  
Sirius rolled up his sleeves, as the water poured into both sides of the sink, Harry’s side full of soapy suds.  
“Is everything all right, Sirius? You and Uncle Remus seem…angry at each other,” Harry said.  
“No, not angry, exactly,” Sirius said. “Its just, Moony thinks I still think a bit too Sacred 28.”  
“What?” Harry said.  
That surprised him-Sirius had left the puritanically traditional world of the Pureblood elite behind when he was a very young man…Harry’s age. It occurred to Harry that Sirius’s twin had become an Alchemical apprentice as Sirius was falling out irrevocably with their family.  
“He reckons I shouldn’t have told you so much about Snape, and your mum’s death, or strategize with you about how to protect Pandora. He wants you, Lucy, and Dora to have something more like a Muggle childhood-less responsibility, more fun. I don’t want you to be blind and fatally vulnerable to the dangers or our world. Magic is unpredictable, and people who use it aren’t always in control. They may think they are, but magic can get bigger than us,” Sirius said. He sighed, and said, “Robbie owled. I haven’t shown Remus yet. I want to hear your version. You had a vision, today?”  
Harry explained what Voldemort told him about killing Snape to give his mother’s spirit peace, and the plain with its chalk horse and barrows, and tower, as well as what Hermione had said about the Ridgeway trail.  
Sirius looked thoughtful. “Dragons are very important to him, Riddle. He’s all about symbols, and that’s a potent one. The Emperor of beasts, dragons, aren’t they? But, I have to admit, I’m stumped.”  
“As am I. Why doesn’t Remus want us to talk things like this over? I mean, staying one step ahead of Riddle is how we stay alive, right?” Harry said.  
“Of course, we agree you should know anything that you need to stay safe…but, its more that he doesn’t want you and Dora to rush things along. Harry, I’m sure you know your parents were just 18 when they got engaged, 19 when they married. That’s quite young. And we all joined the war effort at that time, too. The air was electric, then. We were so alive, but death was all around. We were rash. And, your father was very modern, but very much a wizard,” Sirius said.  
“What do you mean?” Harry asked.  
“James might have worn blue jeans and listened to Genesis, but he was still a Pureblood. It was nothing to him to get married so young, or to get involved in the war. His own dad was a dragon commander in the Coven Wars, he wanted to do valorous deeds like that…He knew our traditions, he chucked what meant nothing to him and lived what he did believe in. And, he had a lot of ideas about magic, theories about just what it was made of, and came from. Energy, you know?” Sirius said.  
“Like Fortune’s teaching us?” Harry said.  
“Exactly,” Sirius said. “But, I guess its not always healthy to decide so many heavy things so young.”  
“I think it depends, doesn’t it? I mean, you and Remus do give me a normal life. There’s just other bits that aren’t normal,” Harry said.  
Sirius smiled. “He loves you. He just wants the best for you, and Dora,” he said.  
“I don’t want you two to fight, over me,” Harry said.  
“Parents disagree about how to raise their kids. Sometimes one of you has one vision, the other has another, and things get heated because you both care so much, that’s all,” Sirius said.  
Remus, Pandora, and Lucy returned, with baskets of summerberries. The kids did their homework, Remus and Sirius put on a Miles Davis album and had a digestif.  
Harry’s eyes met Dora’s, across the coffee table where they both had their homework sprawled on the glass top of the table. They held each other’s gaze, and basked in each other’s empathy. The last few days had been a hale of revelations.  
Pandora touched Harry’s feet with her sock covered toes. He smiled.


	47. Chapter 47

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry fights the temptation to seek revenge; Lavender makes an about face; Freddie has useful information; Pandora is all on board to catch whoever vandalized the school and Goblin Market, and she and Harry stage a fake break-up; a new Potions professor arrives at Hogwarts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has been reading 'The Alchemist's Daughter'. Writing this story, with all its various twists and turns, helps me grow more as a writer every day, and thanks for being on that journey with me!

Sirius opened an Egress for them to return to school, so that they wouldn’t miss Astronomy. Luckily, Ravenclaw and Gryffindor shared class that night, meaning that Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Pandora could easily make it to the forest’s edge to meet with Fortune for their next energy magic lesson.  
Harry kept unpeeling his eye from his telescope to peer at the way the moonlight touched Pandora’s hair. He couldn’t help thinking of how they had kissed in this very tower room, when it was not full of people and washed in moonlight, but drenched in sunshine and empty but for them.  
“Mr. Potter! The only Pandora you should be looking at so attentively is the asteroid! Eyes back on your telescope, please and thank you!” Said Professor Sinistra.  
Some of her Ravenclaw students tittered in laughter. Astronomy humor-must be a Ravenclaw thing, Harry figured.  
“I didn’t know Pandora is an asteroid,” Harry said, as all four of them walked across the yard.  
“All my family are named for celestial bodies,” Pandora said.  
“Yes, I’d noticed that,” Hermione said. “Draco, Regulus, Sirius, Bellatrix-all stars or constellations. Quite a tradition. Do you know where it started?”  
“Egypt, probably. If I have a daughter, I fancy I’ll call her Electra-like the star of the Pleiades,” Pandora said.  
“Electra Potter-nah, sounds a bit bum at the end, doesn’t it?” Ron said. Hermione jabbed him with her elbow.  
“Um…er….” Harry said.  
“Well, there are six other Pleiades, aren’t there? Maia is rather lovely, isn’t it?” Hermione said cheerfully.  
Pandora heartily agreed, and Harry was granted a chance to shake off his embarrassment at the idea of having children with Dora. It wasn’t that he didn’t want it, but the future was so abstract. He couldn’t quite picture being an adult, yet-he couldn’t quit think beyond him and Dora making a happy wedding picture like his parents’. They reached the forest’s edge, and found Fortune waving them into a whirling Egress. They were not at his mill house in the woods, but outside of a brick building topped by a clocktower with shingles like gingerbread.  
“Where are we?” Harry asked.  
“Richmond,” Fortune answered.  
He led them up a winding iron staircase, to an expansive attic room whose window afforded a view of the city, with its skyline of glittering glass bank buildings, and sandy brown parking garages like rotting molars. A glittering blue river ran beneath a bridge. On one side of the river were old brick warehouses, on the other were cargo ships puffing ghostly white smoke. The city was smallish and functional, both modernity and industrialism on display.  
“It’s got more to it than meets the eye,” Fortune said, as if reading Harry’s mind. Harry simply couldn’t believe that he was really in the U.S. This was where he had lived when he was a boy, with his mother and sister, albeit on the other side of the country.  
They got to the energy lesson, building on the breathing lesson of the first lesson, and focusing, on protecting the second layer of the aura. The river glistened before them.  
“Do you really think this will keep Voldemort out of my mind?” Harry said.  
“I do. A strong shield should keep out the kind of tactics Voldemort’s been using, remote Mentalism,” Fortune said. “You’re doing good, Harry.”  
As if on cue, he heard the whisper, curling like smoke around his mind.  
‘He betrayed your mother. You know how to find him…the Rune,’ Voldemort hissed.  
The Calling Rune…if Snape felt its call, he would think it was Dora, and rush to use his chance to see her once more, and serve her. But, it wouldn’t be Dora waiting for him, it would be Harry…what then?  
No! Harry revolted. He veered his mind like a car about to run off the road on holding the shield. Hold the shield, he told the energies of his body, which were wild with magic, like having a wildfire in his blood. The air around him was a caul of fever, hot and cold. It flared, and then Harry felt weak. He fell to his knees. Ron was by his side quickly.  
“That’s enough, for now,” Fortune said, and handed Harry a bottle of water. “Come, lie down for a bit,” he added, and led Ron, whom Harry was leaning on, to a velveteen couch on a dais behind the clockface.  
“That was good,” Fortune said.  
“No! It wasn’t! I heard him. He told me to use the Rune…to call Snape…to….lure him…trap him…kill him….” Harry said. He looked at Pandora’ s and Hermione’s faces, which were engraved with concern.  
“Harry…the only way to stop hating someone enough to kill them is to understand why they do the things they do. To put yourself in their shoes, and understand, even if you still hate what they did. There’s a spell you can cast, for that. It’ll allow you to understand them, for a bit, almost like limited mindreading. It’s called Compassio Sensus,” Fortune said. “If ever you find yourself face to face with Sev, promise me you’ll cast that. It’s a powerful spell, but I think you can handle it.”  
“I promise,” Harry said, because he had been told that his mother hated killing.  
He didn’t want to give Voldemort a way into his soul, influence over what he did. He felt a rumor of the other wizard’s soul when he whispered to him, and it was a toxic mist that caressed Harry with foreboding. Voldemort’s crimes and malevolent desires had a strong magnetism, and unlike those who followed him, Harry felt repelled rather than seduced. Tom Riddle was mired in Dark magic, and although it gave him power, it made his presence feel like a storm coming in.  
After some meditation, they returned to the castle. Harry parted from Pandora with a kiss. He caressed her hair, standing in front of a stained-glass window pouring moonlight down on them. He closed his eyes as he kissed her. There were no whispers in his head, he was an empty glass being filled by the bliss of kissing her.  
When he went back to Gryffindor Tower, to his canopied bed in the dorm, however, he had strange dreams, with many involving vignettes that felt just short of real life, but with surreal and ridiculous bits. He woke to the cheerful prospect of a Hogwarts breakfast, followed by Potions, which was no longer his least favorite subject. Without Snape’s seething passive aggression, Harry was one of many students finding that they were more competent at the subject than they’d ever suspected.  
At breakfast, Ginny asked Harry, “What was that about, last night at Political Science club?”  
“You tell me. What’s Shep playing at, anyway?” Harry asked. “What he’s talking, all that hate against Slytherin, its besides the point. There are bewitched Muggles killing each other by the dozens with guns, and rioting in the streets. There are people disappearing, murdered of magically enthralled to join Riddle’s cause. The nonhuman communities are either joining him or abandoning anywhere humans are. There’s a lot more at stake here, and a lot more going on, than all of that us vs. them 1% and 99% tosh.”  
“It’s not tosh! Why can’t we both be right? Voldemort’s a danger, and he only gets any power because rich people like the Malfoys think he’s going to maintain the status quo for them,” Ginny said. “They want to create a master race! They think they already are one!”  
“All right, but people need to know how to protect themselves!” Harry said.  
“Enough!” Hermione said. She looked between the both of them, her wild dark curls falling from its bun. “You think that this is productive? Do you think that the louder you get finally one of you will understand the other? If you really want to do things like in the real world then you have to do it properly. You’ll never defeat Voldemort, Harry, if you don’t understand what you are fighting. So I ask you, why is it important for people to know how to defend themselves? And Ginny, if you want to be a member of the Guild then you have to learn how to use your reasoning not just your lungs. Why do you think that this problem is as simple as Voldemort recruiting the rich? Where does this leave the dark creatures who have joined his ranks?”  
Harry and Ginny were both silent, stunned at how many words Hermione could fit into a minute.  
Ron snorted and buttered a croissant. “Got quiet fast, didn’t they?”  
“Seems they ran out of hot air,” Hermione assessed.  
“Hermione…you’ve seen that Shep idiot, telling anyone who’ll listen how Merlin’s an imperialist symbol and they should take that stained glass window out of the library. Who cares?” Harry said.  
“I suppose a great many Faer who were banished from a home they lost because of genocide and oppression. But that is a smoke screen. Why invoke an old symbol of oppression when we have a modern one that demands our attention now?” Hermione said.  
“A symbol we’ve been fed since birth. Recognizing these things is how we wake up,” Ginny said. Waving her hands, she said frantically, “We have to wake up! Wake up!”  
People looked in her direction up and down the Gryffindor breakfast table. Hermione put her hand on Ginny’s arm. Harry merely looked at the scene: Ginny’s tone was exactly like Roger’s. All that was missing was the applause that came after Shep’s every proclamation. What followed Ginny’s words was embarrassed tension.  
“Well, that’s a new development,” Hermione said, her attention diverted from a now calm Ginny, to the door of the Great Hall. Harry and Ron looked in the same direction. At first, Harry saw merely the girls Dora had called the Bonnet Squad when they encountered them walking in the Village over the weekend, the girls who wore Vale dress. They looked like extras in an adaptation of “Pride and Prejudice”. He noticed, when he looked close, that one of them was Lavender Brown. She wore a towering velvet bonnet, an empire waist gown, a shawl, dangled a reticule from her wrist, and waved sweetly as she broke apart from Roseline Wilcox, Deverell Thrale’s girlfriend. She swanned into an empty seat beside Daisy Spriggs, who was sitting across from Freddie Breedlove.  
Lavender’s smug look and preening attitude suggested she wanted someone to ask her ‘why the change’.  
“What on earth are you wearing?” Parvati, her best friend, asked.  
“Oh, this?” Lavender said. “Trying something new, that’s all. You can understand that, Parvati.”  
Parvati rolled her eyes. “Give it a rest, Lav! I have to hang out with Somachandra’s friends sometime. I can’t be on call to comfort you about this Serpentarius business 24/7!” Parvati said.  
“Then what sort of best friend are you?!” Lavender demanded. “You’re not the only one who can make new friends!”  
“Roseline Wilcox? She’s a snake! And Vivian is just using you!” Parvati said.  
Lavender was dating Vivian Thrale? That was new intelligence as well as a surprise to Harry-she had just accused Dora the day before of being a Slytherin spy, now she was dating a Slytherin.  
“You just don’t want me to be happy!” Lavender cried, and threw a breakfast roll at Parvati. Parvati threw bread, in return fire.  
“Enough, both of you! 20 points from Gryffindor, and I’m going to recommend detention to McGonagall!” Hermione said, and marched determinedly to the professors’ table.  
“Bloody outlanders,” Lavender muttered.  
“Oy! What’d you say?” Ron demanded angrily. His freckled face was flushed red with anger.  
Lavender smirked haughtily, her blue eyes a dare.  
“Be glad you’re a girl,” Ron told his ex darkly, and ripped the napkin tucked into his school shirt off, into his plate as he stood up and stormed off.  
Harry followed, and they stopped just outside the Great Hall.  
“What’s an outlander?” Harry asked.  
“Like, an outsider, someone who doesn’t belong. Its just another way of saying Mudblood, basically,” Ron said.  
Harry frowned. “She never called ‘Mione anything like that before. I mean, they never got on, but I didn’t think it had anything to do with Mione being Muggleborn.”  
“Yeah, well, Parvati let on that she’s dating Thrale now. That would do it,” Ron said.  
“And that makes no sense, either. She got on my case in the carriages on the way to school the other day, saying Dora was a Malfoy and a Slytherin spy, and she couldn’t be trusted,” Harry said.  
“Ron!”  
Harry and Ron both turned around, to see who had called Ron’s name. It was Freddie Breedlove. Freddie was an attractive boy, in a clean cut and studious mold, with dark hair and light brown eyes that burned dark gold when they caught the light. Harry had observed him over the years enjoying sedate past-times like chess and reading, and he was one of the few in their year who actually excelled at History of Magic. Harry recalled that he and Ron had a de facto date in Hogsmeade the weekend before last, and was prepared to step away to give them a moment if they needed it.  
“Oy, Freddie-all right?” Ron asked.  
“I overheard you two talking about the Curious Case of Lavender Brown,” Freddie said.  
“Yeah, what about her?” Harry said.  
“The thing is, she’s been crying on Daisy’s shoulder since coming back to school. Parvati seems a little sick of the whole Serpentarius situation, felt like it was cutting into her time with Somachandra Singh,” Freddie said.  
“What happened there?” Harry asked.  
“Serpentarius was sent to an island on another realm, called Aiaia, to live with his aunt, Circe, for a bit. Lavender’s pretty cut up…first, she leaned on Daisy, when Parvati lost interest, but then she fell out with Daisy, too,” Freddie said.  
“She does have a way of burning a bridge as fast as she’s lit the match, Lav does,” Ron said. “what happened there?”  
“She got jealous, when Vivian Thrale became interested in Daisy,” Freddie reported. “She said she’d never go for a Manticore boy, though.”  
“A…what sort of boy?” Harry asked.  
“The Manticore. Eastling, Thrale, those idiots, Crabbe and Goyle, and those Bonnet Squad girls…they’re in a club called the Manticore. It’s some kind of Pureblood secret society. Daisy says Thrale was only interested in her because her father was in it when he was at school, but he died in the war and Daisy doesn’t like to talk about him. Lavender couldn’t stand to see anyone besides her getting bloke’s attention, and made a play for Thrale. And, I think she’s gone full speed ahead into the Manticore, too,” Freddie said.  
“What makes you say that?” Harry asked.  
“She dropped this in my bag,” Freddie said, and pulled out a Le Pendu card…or, as it was also known, the Traitor.  
“Why would they think you’re a blood traitor?” Ron asked.  
“Well, kissing boys might be a compelling enough reason for some people,” Freddie said. “But, I don’t give a damn.”  
“Good news for me,” Ron said, and gave Freddie a quick kiss on the lips.  
Harry felt a frisson of appreciation and envy combined. What if he and Cedric had walked hand in hand in Hogsmeade ,and confidently kissed in front of their friends? Could it ever have been? The first time Harry had awoken from a dream of Cedric wet, spent, and trembling, the memories replaying as they faded, he hadn’t known how to name his feelings. A time had never come to tell his crush, his rival, how he felt. Now, he knew that there was a word for it, being attracted to both girls and boys: he was bisexual. Knowing made a difference, he felt more sure of himself and more mature than he had been the year before.  
Freddie and Ron pulled apart, and Ron said, “Thanks, Freddie-for the information.”  
“Well, you are a Prefect, after all. Let’s have a crack at that History of Magic essay at lunch, all right?” Freddie said.  
Ron nodded. Freddie went back to the Great Hall.  
“The Manticore. They had to be behind the Goblin Market, and that graffiti. How do we get inside, and prove it?” Ron said.  
“Get inside? There’s no way. Me and Dora are on the Blood Traitor list, literally, and you and Ginny….” Harry said.  
“Are the bloody ‘help’, I know,” Ron said. “Ptolemy can’t blow her cover…anyway, its not like we know where they meet up and plan things, do we? We’ll have to wait till they strike again, and catch them at something, like you did Crabbe and Goyle.”  
Hermione caught up with them, her walk a furious stride. Harry and Ron explained to her what Freddie had told them about the Manticore.  
“A secret Pureblood society at Hogwarts? That sounds characteristically Slytherin, but Ron’s right, I don’t see a way in,” Hermione said. “Daisy rejected Vivian, Lavender hates me, and Ron, and probably you by extension, Harry, so she would hardly serve as an informant. And…well, we don’t know any Slytherins, do we? Dora knows that lot, but they’ve disowned her. Unless…”  
“Unless, what?” Harry asked.  
“Well, I’m thinking about what you told me about Lavender’s behavior in the carriages. You simply don’t understand women. Lavender has been jealous of Pandora since she arrived at school it’s obvious. So, she might well jump at a chance to be her friend,” Hermione said.  
“Huh?” Harry said.  
They began to walk.  
“Cressida Beverley probably said something indiscreet about the Red Chord match between you and Dora,” Hermione said to Harry. “Her own match with the Centaur boy, Serpentarius, has been a disaster. Strike one, against Dora. She’s a wealthy Pureblood heiress from a notable family, she’s got a bit of scandal to her own name for that supposed affair with Snape, and running away from home…”  
“Hey! There was no affair, Hermione, you know that!” Harry said heatedly.  
“Yes, but this is gossip we’re talking about. What people like Lavender and Roseline are saying, not the truth,” Hermione said. “So, then comes strike two. She falls for you, and snaps you up from everyone else.”  
“Me? Lavender likes exciting blokes. I’m about as exciting as the World Gobstones Championship,” Harry said.  
“Well, you’re a wealthy, famous Gryffindor boy whom everyone talks about for one reason or another,” Hermione said.  
“Famous?! For my parents being murdered! For a bunch of other little boys being murdered, and I lived!” Harry said.  
“Harry! If you shout at me one more time, I will give you acne it will take a miracle of modern medical science to clear up!” Hermione said. “Look, this isn’t what I think, its how chits who gossip think. As far as the Lavenders of the world go, you’re Our Harry, and if you’re going to settle down, it should be with a Gryffindor girl, not an interloping Slytherin posing as a Ravenclaw, who almost married Snape, with a Death Eater uncle. So, Lavender is dating a Slytherin herself and wearing that ridiculous Emma Woodhouse get-up to compete with Pandora. The only thing that would give her more satisfaction would be for Pandora to see it up close, and bothered by it. For that, she would need to pretend to be her friend for a little while.”  
“Bloody Hell,” Ron said.  
“Why should Dora hang around with Lavender? Why should I ask her to?” Harry asked.  
“To catch the Manticore! They’re stirring fear and unrest at Hogwarts!” Hermione said.  
“Look, she just had a nasty shock about her dad being a vampire,” Harry said.  
“And, I get the feeling that you two have something in common-when you’ve had a nasty shock, what you need more than anything is something worthwhile to pour your energies into,” Hermione said. “This could keep her from making a rash decision of some sort.”  
“A rash decision…like calling Snape, with that Rune?” Harry said. “I shouldn’t have brought it up at Fortune’s place!”  
“Don’t beat yourself up. Its not the only possibility. She might just try to go off to Londinium and look old Reg up herself. She’s an intrepid girl. I help take care of the horses, at the Manor, for an extra bit of money. I look after Dora’s horse, Pallas Athene, and help Dora onto her saddle and all. You should see her ride. She never did side saddle, and she started on jumps a year younger than she should have. She’s got a fire inside her-she really ought to have been in Gryffindor,” Ron said.  
Harry knew exactly what Ron meant. He thought of Dora, riding a hippogriff, shooting her thunderous Elekron charm at Death Eaters, her eyes dark gray and alive with determination, laughing wildly as they staved off death for few seconds more with each landed spell, together. He knew he could trust her. 

‘Vampire. Do not make contact,’ the file had read. Dora thought of the words over and over again, as she ate maple sausages and jelly biscuits at the Ravenclaw table.  
“All right, Dora?” Somachandra asked.  
“Still drowsy from Astronomy. It does break up one’s night’s sleep, doesn’t it?” she said, and for effect, yawned.  
Somachandra and Mordecai laughed. “Poor dear! Stop by the infirmary, get a Pep-Up Potion,” Mordecai recommended.  
“Oy, speaking of Potions, where’s Professor Gray? I think that man beside Dumbledore is in her chair. Is he our new Alchemy and Potions Professor?” Cressida asked.  
“Another new Potions professor? That’ll be the second since Snape,” Somachandra said.  
Pandora looked over. There was, indeed, someone new in Professor Gray’s chair. Dora liked the Warlock woman, who was enthusiastic and playful in her approach to teaching Potions and Alchemy. Students taking both subjects, as Dora and her friends were, saw the same professor twice a day, and were usually planning to go into medicine or medical research, ergo they took their instruction quite seriously. Well, Dora had to admit, her Ravenclaw friends took everything a bit seriously. It was quite the extreme opposite of the habitual and codified frivolity of the Vale, but not as fun as the carefree times she had with Harry and his Gryffindor friends. The man sitting beside Dumbledore had a dignified face lined with stately wrinkles, steel gray hair, and piercing blue eyes. Like Severus consistently had, he wore a Master Alchemist’s dark frock coat and billowing black robe. That meant he had been trained, attuned, and certified through an alchemical order. Could it have been the Emerald Order?  
“Ugh, I think I put Aldeberan in the wrong place. Pandy, can you help me sort this?” Cressida asked, pulling out her Astronomy homework. Dora broke her gaze from the Professor’s table, and turned it to Cressida’s star chart.  
When breakfast was over, the Hall emptied, and the students in their black robes filled the corridor like a murder of black winged crows. In the sea of students’ robes, she found Harry’s untidy dark brown hair. She tapped his shoulder, and he turned to her, smiling. He slipped his arm around her waist, and kissed her cheek.  
“What’ve you got next?” he asked.  
“Potions, with Slytherin,” she said. “Did you notice the gentleman in a Master Alchemist’s robes, sitting beside Dumbledore? Cressie reckons he’s our new Potions and Alchemy Master.”  
“What happened to Gray?” Harry asked.  
“Oh, I don’t know. There’s been an alarming trend of Professors getting called away suddenly, hasn’t there?” Pandora said.  
“Well, I just hope he grades on a curve,” Harry said.  
Dora laughed, and said, “You’re good at plenty of other things-it might just be dangerous for the general populace if you ever get the ambition to become a Healer, that’s all.”  
Harry laughed good naturedly at his own lack of Potions prowess, and said, “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t even try a Pep-Up potion. In my hands, whoever drinks it would end up in a fit of depression.”  
Dora laughed, and said, “Oh, that reminds me, I should stop off for one at the hospital wing. I do feel out of sorts after Astronomy.”  
“Are you sure that’s it?” he asked.  
“Oh, you mean the lessons with Fortune? I don’t mind staying up another hour or so, if I’m already up. Are you all right?” she asked.  
The last thing Harry wanted to think about was Voldemort’s whisper. When he watched the news on WWN, or read the Prophet at breakfast, he saw Voldemort’s crimes-the disappeared dissenters, the havoc wrought in the Muggle world with the intent to weaken them for invasion. So many witches and wizards still felt that it did not affect them, they were safe in their homes…but, he’d heard Sirius and Remus discuss the old days, the random acts of terror and intimidation, the dark creatures and dark wizards who thrived on hurting others and gladly did so at Voldemort’s behest. It was all building like a dark cloud.  
“Fine,” Harry said quickly. “But, Dora, you haven’t said very much about your dad, since we found out.”  
“What is there to say, Harry? I can’t ask Dumbledore, can I? He has no reason to tell me the truth. Clearly, Sirius doesn’t know. He was perfectly forthcoming about Bellatrix and Belphoebe, and he is such a kind man…no, I don’t think my uncle would let me think my father is dead if he knew otherwise. I have no one to tell me, no one to ask…I have no one,” she said.  
“You’re right. We haven’t much to go on. That’s why I figured it must be eating you up,” Harry said.  
“Oh, Harry…I can handle it. Whatever became of my father, it’s the past, isn’t it? But, keeping Voldemort from influencing you to do something that’s not who you are, that’s the concern of our present,” Pandora said.  
“That’s for me to handle, Dora. You’re not going to get in the middle of me and Voldemort, ever again,” Harry said.  
“You can’t promise that. We don’t yet know…if he knows about me. My blood, and what’s in it. He may know about me, already,” Pandora pointed out.  
She had him, there, Harry had to admit. She was so strong, so brave, and as Ron had said, there was a fire inside her. Still, he wanted peace for them: a long walk in a meadow at Orchard Grange, that would end with them lying beneath a bright spring sun on Dora’s shawl.  
Dora smiled. She could see, or hear, his vision. “I would love that, Harry,” she said.  
“All right, then skive off Potions,” Harry said.  
Dora laughed. “Harry! I want to be an Alchemist! Who’d write a recommendation to an Alchemical order for a girl who skives off Potions? And, if that man is our new professor, I’ll be starting off on the wrong foot with him!”  
“You are such a conscientious Ravenclaw!” he said.  
“And you are such an impulsive Gryffindor!” she countered. “I can’t skive off Botany, either, before you ask, and certainly not Transfiguration. But…I can meet you at Study Hour.”  
“Great. Meet me at the Quidditch pitch. None of the house teams have practice, tonight. So, no one’s using the spare brooms. You do fly, don’t you?” he asked.  
“Yes, of course,” Dora said, as if that went without saying.  
“Brilliant,” Harry said.  
“What are you planning?” he asked.  
“Its really not a surprise if you ask me that,” he said.  
Dora smirked bemusedly. “All right…” she said, with interest.  
“And, Dora? Have you ever heard of something called The Manticore? Did Draco maybe mention it?” Harry asked.  
Dora looked mystified, and shook her head.  
Harry pulled her into a nondenominational chapel, to be used by students of any faith for prayer if they so chose. It had a few pews, an altar decorated with a vase of daffodils, and stained glass windows that depicted symbols from several different religions. He explained what the Manticore was, as Freddie had told him and Ron.  
“No, I never heard of anything like that…which is quite odd, because if anyone would have been its leader, it certainly would have been my cousin,” Pandora said. “He didn’t have any true enthusiasm for all that being the Malfoy heir entails, but he knows how to play his role.”  
“He plays it so well he siced a snake on me in a duel when we were 12. I’d say he deserves a BAFTA,” Harry said.  
“Boys can be nasty,” Pandora said. “If you really want me to go in, I can manage it.”  
“How? Dora, those boys call you terrible names, they harass you,” Harry said. “Hermione is mad for asking.”  
“Lavender. She can be my way in. Deverell will think being on that list on the wall got to me, and if I make my appeal to be forgiven for my transgressions directly to him, he’ll be chuffed,” Pandora said.  
Hermione was right-Dora’s busy mind was whirring around the subject of her father, and bringing down the Manticore was giving her an outlet.  
“When do we start?” Harry asked.  
Dora looked behind her, crouching down a bit in the pew, so that she couldn’t be seen spying. The Bonnet Squad were passing.  
“Now! Kiss me,” she hissed.  
Harry moved closer. He kissed Dora, which was no chore for him. Her lips were so soft, so full, and he soon forget all else but her, especially when her tongue slipped friskily into Harry’s mouth. He was slightly distraught when she pulled away, retracting her soft lips and darting, loving, teasing tongue.  
He was even more shocked when she slapped him.  
Harry felt his eyes sting, so that tears welled up there. Dora flinched away from him, and said, “How dare you say that to me? I can write to whomever I want, can’t I? He’s my cousin, and he’s ill!”  
Harry’s eyes widened. Had she gone completely mad? Then his wits caught up with him, and perhaps with a nudge from their Red Chord, he figured out her game.  
“You were set to marry him! You’re not asking after his bloody health, you’re trying to meet up with him!” he shouted, hoping the Bonnet Squad were still lurking, and getting an earful.  
“Is that what you think?!” Dora shouted.  
“What else should I think? You threw him over for Snape, and Snape for me-what’s to stop you circling back round to Draco!” Harry said.  
Dora, remarkably, actually began to cry on cue, wet tears and loud sobs. “I never wanted to marry either of them! I didn’t! You said you believe me!” she wailed desperately.  
“I can’t believe anything out of your mouth,” Harry said coldly.  
“Now storm off!” Dora hissed urgingly.  
Harry did so, stormily adjusting his books satchel as he walked out of the chapel. He wasn’t surprised to see several on-lookers, including Roseline Wilcox and Lavender Brown, outside the chapel, their attention ping-ponging between Harry stalking off, and Dora loudly sobbing into her hands.  
‘You’re brilliant,’ he told her, into their connection.

As Dora hoped, the story spread quickly. By the time she settled into her desk in the Potions lab, all her Ravenclaw friends were looking at her teary face with redolent concern.  
“Oh, Pandy. Was it horrible?” she asked.  
“He…he said I was writing to Draco…to meet up with him…that I’d circled back round to him!” Pandora said, keeping up the act. Cressida put her arms around Dora.  
“Tosser,” Kashmira said darkly. Dora suspected that she had never amended the view that Harry was a trouble-maker. “Does he know what he’s lost? Honestly! A girl with your brain isn’t going to come his way again any time soon!”  
Cressida nodded vehemently. Mordecai and Somachandra exchanged discomfited looks, as if ‘Crying Girl’ was a specimen of deadly plant they had to handle with care…or as if they thought Harry was a decent bloke, and didn’t want to dump on him.  
Blaise Zabini nudged Deverell Eastling, who had surely heard about the morning’s development from Thrale, who’d been no doubt informed by Roseline.  
“Cuz-you all right?” Zabini asked.  
Dora sniffled pitifully, and said, “Fine.”  
“I heard you’re done with Potter,” Zabini said.  
Eastling, diabolically handsome, chillingly calm Eastling’s eyes waited for her confirmation or denial. Dora shook her head up and down for ‘yes’, and cried hard as she did. The Professor had not arrived yet.  
“Pandora, would you like us to do anything about it?” Eastling drawled. His tone was just so, that it could be played for humor if anyone remembered it. But, Pandora knew he wasn’t joking at all.  
“What could you do?” she said.  
“Be careful what you say, in front of a Prefect, Deverell,” Kashmira said coldly.  
“Two Prefects,” Mordecai said.  
Blaise gave them a dismissive look. “I, for one, think you’re better off, Pandora.”  
“I doubt she needs to be told. Look at the state of her. Potter’s a fool,” Deverell said.  
The same boy who’d called her a blood traitor! Dora’s blood was outraged. He was treating her like a poor dear lamb now, because he wanted to reel her in and find out just what had happened with Harry! Well, she wanted some information out of him, too. She knew this game. She gave her most ladylike, demure smile, tinged with appealing heartbreak, and said,  
“Thanks, Eastling.”  
He waved his hand and corrected, “Deverell’s fine. I’ve only known you all our lives, you know.”  
She laughed as if he was so very droll, and allowed him to think he had cheered her up.  
When she’d turned her attention back to her Ravenclaw friends, their eyes were demanding an explanation, especially Kashmira’s dark fire eyes.  
“Muffliato,” Pandora cast, a spell she had seen Severus cast on the walls of his office. She hoped it applied to any space around two people talking.  
“What was that? Those boys have been giving you a hard time since you got here!” Kashmira whispered.  
“What if I told you that I could hand you, and the rest of the Prefects, the people who painted those walls with the names of blood traitors?” Pandora whispered.  
“Hang on…you’re buttering that lot up to find out if they did it?” Mordecai said.  
“And the Goblin Market. They call themselves the Manticore. That’s all I can tell you right now. But, ask around about the Manticore,” she told Mordecai and Kashmira. They both looked stunned, but agreed.  
“Has Harry gotten you into one of his mad little capers?” Cressida said.  
“Yes!” Pandora said.  
“Well, good luck!” Cressida said.  
All talk ceased as their new Professor swept into the room. It was the man in dark robes that had sat beside Dumbledore at the faculty table at breakfast.  
“Salvete, discpuli, et discipulae,” he said with a forceful, formal cheerfulness. When the class did not respond, he said,  
“Come, come! Advanced students of magical medicine such as yourself should, by now, be well acquainted with the language of magic, Latin! Let’s try that again! Salvete, discipuli, et discipulae!”  
“Salve!” some of the class felt emboldened to call out.  
“Wonderful. Understanding the terminology of medicine is of key importance, and the bedrock of this is to understand the language of that terminology. I do expect you to keep up when I employ Latin, and Alchemical symbols. This is your winnowing year, ladies and gentlemen. The year that determines who will be pursuing magical medicine as their vocation, and who will be pursuing their aptitude elsewhere,” said the alchemist. “I hope that I can be of assistance to you. I am Professor Perrier Flamel.”  
Dora was brought forcefully back into awareness of everything she had been shoving to the side. All thoughts of penetrating the Manticore fell away. This was the man who had given her parents the silphium seeds, the alchemist that Severus had been sent to meet. Voldemort was, from what they could deduce, looking for him. What was he doing in Hogwarts?


	48. Chapter 48

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dora welcomes the distraction of investigating the Manticore, and infiltrates the Bonnet Squad; Harry disagrees with Roger, and confides in Robert Fortune

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone reading and enjoying the story! There have been lots of twists and turns, and more to come. Have fun:)

Flamel lectured on the crystal element, a form of matter unlike water, air, metal, fire, or wood, and the students ground samples of quartz with their mortar and pestle for the day’s lesson, a Clarity Potion.  
“It will surely be of use to anyone whose next class is History of Magic,” Flamel said briskly. “Miss Black, why did you feel the need to add amethyst, in addition to clear quartz? Did I not explain that they are the very same mineral?”  
“Yes, sir, but amethyst is quartz suffused with iron, so…I thought maybe it would add a bit of an extra…kick?” Pandora said.  
The Manticore boys on the Slytherin side laughed as if she was being so very adorable, and they knew her so well. She had shown the proper weakness, crying and breaking up with Harry, so they were on her side now. They disgusted her. The Ravenclaws were waiting to see how the wind would blow-was she being told off, or commended? Flamel’s speaking style was strident, it was hard to tell.  
“Rendering your potion an excellent daily course for someone needing iron supplementation. Perhaps they would even find themselves doing without coffee!” Flamel said. “Well done, points to Ravenclaw…we’ll say, 10 points.”  
Pandora smiled. She was pleased, but still mystified by his presence at Hogwarts, if he was presumably wanted by Voldemort.  
“He wears that whole kit like Snape used to, I wonder what Order he’s from?” Kashmira said.  
“The Emerald Order,” her brother, Somachandra said. “They wear black, don’t they?”

“Well, he’s not as fun as Gray, but he doesn’t seem a bad sort, either,” Cressida said, and added to Pandora, “Amethyst, eh?”  
“I was feeling creative. Potionmaking has always soothed my mind,” Pandora said.  
“If you’re really going to do this thing,” Cressida warned, “just don’t let them get under your skin. And don’t participate in anything people will remember you unfavorably for, later.”  
Pandora nodded, taking in her advice. She needed to do this, wanted to do this. Getting those boys found out felt like justice for something unaddressed she felt within herself and outside of herself.

It did not take long for members of Eastling’s squad to descend upon Dora, after Potions. She felt the stairs and heard the whispers of the general populace of students, but it was those who dubbed her ‘one of theirs’ who approached her.  
“It’s ever so reproachful, how you have been dealt with this day!” Lavender said, trying to effect a Vale accent and speech, sounding like badly acted Shakespeare, and standing so close Pandora was getting a headache at her temples from her very strong violet perfume. “I abhor to see you treated so! It is shameful! Harry Potter is a blackguard, I’ve always said so!”  
‘Spare me your theater,’ Pandora thought, but kept her face a mask of sympathy.  
“You are a dove, really. I am ashamed of myself! I was so caught up in our acquaintance, I did not get to know anyone by whose company I could truly derive benefit,” Pandora said, slipping into the old expectations and turns of phrase.  
“Oh! Don’t be troubled, you can come as my guest to tea with Roseline,” Lavender said.  
“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Pandora said.  
“You shall be my guest!” Lavender said eagerly.  
There was thirst in her eyes and voice, to set Pandora and all her scandals before Roseline’s feet like John the Baptist’s head before Salome, for all her talk of ‘Slytherin spies’ until she was sure she had Vivian’s affection, and wanted to impress his friends. She reminded herself that she had to play the penitent blood traitor, if she wanted to prove Freddie’s claims about the Manticore.  
“Then I am ever so grateful to you, Miss Brown,” Pandora said.  
“Lavender,” Lavender corrected, offering her name as if it were a special token, as if they had not met before.  
Lavender looked very pleased as she peeled off to go to her next class. Dora felt exhausted. She wanted to meet up with Harry and tell him that it was, indeed, the same Flamel mentioned in her mother’s notes that was now their Potions professor, and go over with him what that could mean. She thought his name, and felt his attention, waiting for an answer.  
‘Its Flamel,’ she thought.  
‘Flamel? Your mum’s Flamel? If Dumbledore is hiding him from Voldemort, isn’t teaching hundreds of students every day a bit high profile?’ Harry asked.  
‘Precisely what I was thinking. I think I’m in with the Manticore, by the way. Tea with Roseline Wilcox,’ Pandora said.  
‘I’ve heard nothing nice about that one,’ Harry said.  
‘She’s 14-how vicious can she be?’ Pandora countered.  
She felt Harry’s laughter fill her, like a warm potion infused with citrine crystals.  
‘Joy of the hunt, then. Be careful. I love you,’ he said.  
‘And I, you,” Pandora thought, and when she heard the nasally voice of Professor Binns finishing out the lecture unit of the Battle of the Trees, she realized Harry had wrestled his attention back to History of Magic. She treasured the fact that they would be meeting at 5, for his surprise at the Quidditch Pitch.  
The Ravenclaws shared Transfiguration with Gryffindor, and both sides avidly watched Pandora and Harry for any signs of tension.  
‘Should I cry again?’ she proposed.  
‘I think that’d be overdoing it a bit. When Ron and Lavender broke up, they refused to look at each other. I’ll just turn my head to the window,’ Harry thought.  
“Mr. Potter!” Professor McGonagall said. “What is so fascinating about the view of the lake, today? I don’t care if the Giant Squid is doing water ballet, eyes on me!”  
Harry snapped his attention back to Professor McGonagall.  
‘This is all kind of funny, isn’t it? I mean, everyone thinks one thing, we know another,’ Harry said. ‘I want to kiss you so much, right now…’  
In her mind’s eye, Dora and Harry crafted a scene of themselves at Orchard Grange, in each other’s arms in a meadow of high, dry, sunwarmed grass and wildflowers. She felt his lips, felt the sensitivity of her nipples as her bosom pressed against his chest, and felt the sunlight caress her along with Harry’s hands….  
The dove she was meant to be Transfiguring into a Raven turned splotchy, white with a few black splotches as if it had survived and oil spill.  
“Focus, Miss Black,” Professor McGonagall warned. She tried again, and came out with a raven from a dove. 

Harry felt Dora’s focus on their shared fantasy recede, but it had taken its effect. He felt as if he had been hit and tumbled by a wave. The kiss in the chapel and the feelings of the dream they had woven combined and flared the way the colors of the aurora trapped in glass bled into each other. Harry’s skin wanted Dora’s touch. He did the breathing exercises he had learned from Fortune to focus.  
As class spilled out, Harry’s Gryffindor classmates gave him looks of sympathy and curiosity. No one approached directly but Ginny, who demanded,  
“What happened? People are saying Dora slapped you!”  
“It’s not what it seems,” Harry said.  
“Is it…some sort of plan, you two have?” Ginny asked, in a low voice. “But, why?”  
Harry wasn’t sure how much to tell Ginny. He didn’t want to overwhelm her. She was easily upset, and talking about her dad’s death more. She seemed to see reminders of it everywhere. He wished he could tell her that he understood-he thought of his parents and, in a way, saw them at Hogwarts, and at the Grange. It was like being haunted by a ghost that wouldn’t come.  
He was spared the chance, or the effort, of finding the words by Roger Shepherd’s approach.  
“Sorry about Pandora Black,” Roger said. “Maybe now that you’re not dating a Death Eater’s niece, you’ll be less inclined to play both sides.”  
“Pandora’s done nothing wrong, she’s not anything like her Uncle, and I was never trying to ‘play both sides’,” Harry said.  
“I’ve seen you, Harry Potter. You love winning. You love to hear the roar of a crowd cheering because you’ve caught the Snitch and won the game. You’re trying to win the game, here, too. The less you say on record, the more people can assume what they like. Have their Own Private Potter in their pocket, to project onto, and you won’t cause any controversy. The safe route,” Roger said. “Especially when you choose to date Riddle-lovers, I guess.”  
“Shut your bloody mouth about Dora! You don’t know me, you don’t know her, sod the Hell off!” Harry said.  
The corridor quieted, and people were watching. Harry looked at Ginny. He remembered the wet, mucky, sulfur stinking trek through the Fens to find her, when the basilisk had wrapped itself around her small 1st year body and dragged her to its lair, and fumbling for the Sword Of Gryffindor in the black water. Ginny was a vocal champion when she cared about something or someone…and Harry thought that she cared about him. Her eyes were so dark they were almost black and spun any light available into stars, and her hair, a vivid and unique cinnamon red. She was looking at Roger, as if trying to gauge how he felt before deciding what she felt.  
‘You don’t care,’ Harry realized.  
He imagined, once more, his mother’s last day on earth, in far away Washington State. Had she, at first, been grateful relieved, pleased, to see Snape at her door, still thinking him a defector, an ally? Had she opened the screen door, holding Rosie on her hip, treating him with the bright smile she had worn on her wedding day?  
‘Rosie,’ the Lily Potter in Harry’s mind cooed, ‘Look, its Uncle Sev!’ Until she saw the look in his eyes, and realized that Snape, like Ginny, simply didn’t care. Voldemort decided for him, the way Roger decided for Ginny, now.  
“Nothing more substantive to say? Shame. So many people look up to you. Ladies and gentleman, Harry Potter: the Last Phoenix, the Boy Who Lived,” Roger said.  
‘Make him feel your pain,’ the Serpent hissed.  
THWACK!  
Harry punched Roger. Roger’s book satchel flew from his shoulder, opened on the floor, and papers flew around them.  
“Oy!” Robert Fortune exclaimed as he rushed over. He pulled Harry off Shepherd, and into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, and shut the door behind him.  
“What’s going on, Harry?” Fortune asked.  
“He’s been after me all bloody week to do an interview with his brother’s zine,” Harry fumed. “He started in about me breaking up with Dora.”  
“You broke up with Dora? That fast? Well, that’s young love, I reckon,” Fortune said.  
“No! We only pretended to, to bust up the Manticore,” Harry said.  
Recognition dawned on Fortune’s face. Harry could tell that he had heard of it.  
“Where’d you hear that word, Manticore?” Fortune asked.  
Harry didn’t want to give up Freddie to a Professor, so he hesitated.  
“Harry, look. I like you, kid. Your mum found me in a bloody junkyard with no shoes, took me home and let me drink water out of her parents’ cups. There ain’t much you can ask me to do that I’d flinch at. But, I am Head of Slytherin House, and there’s things I need to know. Tell me about the Manticore,” Fortune said.  
“You lived in a junkyard?” Harry asked.  
“No, but it was my place. That, and the town graveyard. All the wizards in Cokeworth had just about died out, but I used to talk to their ghosts, ask them questions. A witch or wizard’s ghost keeps a bit more personality than a Muggle’s ghost. When a Muggle lingers between worlds, its either an echo of a very strong emotion that isn’t sentient and interactive, its more of a recording of a moment…or, they have a secret or a truth to tell. Anyway, I roved around, talking to the dead or picking pockets, or just getting a bit of peace and quiet at the junkyard. Sev and Lily found me,” Fortune said. “I’ll always be grateful to your mum. She could be a pain in the ass, but she was just trying to keep us on the up and up, doing our homework and paying attention and all.”  
Harry imagined she was very much like Hermione.  
“I don’t want to push you, or put you in an awkward spot. I know it’s probably not easy, to be Head of Slytherin House,” Harry said.  
“I never fit in there,” Fortune said. “But, it was my House, and I know how the wheels turn. I hope I can change a few things there. Can you help me?”  
“What was The Manticore in your day?” Harry asked.  
“A club, sort of. They liked to play nasty tricks on younger kids, girls, Muggleborns, and nonhumans in the village, but they’re like a fraternity-they all look out for each other and do each other favors, later in life, after school. Quid Pro Quo, you know?” Robbie said. “The blokes I know for sure were in it-Hector Mulciber and Mostyn Avery-turned out Death Eaters.”  
“Snape?” Harry said darkly.  
“Nah. You have to be Pureblood,” Fortune said quickly. “He’s Half, Sev. Put him in an awkward spot, for a Slytherin. He was talented, but never fully accepted.”  
“Boo-hoo. So sad. I’m a Halfblood too, I don’t plan to get a Dark Mark anytime soon,” Harry said.  
Fortune said, “Don’t give in to the hate, Harry. That’s Voldemort’s way in.”  
Harry sighed. “So, its back, anyway, the Manticore. I think it’s Deverell Eastling, Vivian Thrale, Crabbe, Goyle, and all those girls that hang around Roseline Wilcox, now,” he said.  
“Nah. Or, that’s different, now. It was only blokes, back in the day,” Fortune said.  
“Oh. But, I mean, the girls could still know things, right?” Harry said.  
“Oh, yeah, definitely,” Fortune said.  
“We reckon they did the Goblin Market. And, that list of blood traitors. And, they’re leaving those Tarot cards, the Traitor card, in people’s bags for them to find. They left one for Ron’s boyfriend, Freddie, because he’s gay, I think,” Harry said.  
Fortune nodded. “Well, that’s what always bothered them about me.”  
“You’re ….but, Natalie…and Wina…?” Harry asked.  
“I’m bisexual, Harry. When I was in school…I loved a boy. He was my friend. He was more than that. He always was, but as we got older, we fell in love. He looked after me, he was always patient with me, no matter how long it took me to understand something, or how much trouble I made trying to get it right. He was wise beyond his years, and good at everything. He had so much pain of his own, but he was so gentle and caring with me. But, the Manticore gave him a hard time,” Fortune said.  
The words ‘I loved a boy’ sounded so brave to Harry’s ears. After all this time, he was still walking around with secret love for Cedric like a hidden flame sheltered in his heart. This boy sounded as kind as Cedric, and as smart as Freddie Breedlove, with perhaps a bit of Neville Longbottom’s naivete and gentleness. Of course a boy like that would suffer in Slytherin, someone kind and decent.  
“So, it’s for him. He’s the reason you want to change Slytherin house for the better,” Harry said. “Did you lose him, in the war?”  
“I lost him,” Fortune confirmed.  
Harry sighed. So much loss. All these people had loved and been loved, and they all mattered. How much better would the world be, if these lost ones were still in it? The Phoenix boys, his parents, Fortune’s and Belwina’s son, Harry’s little sister, Rose, Ada Vaillancourt-Black, and the boy Fortune loved, who had been terrorized by the Manticore.  
“Hermione and Dora reckoned that Dora could get on the inside, so she had to make it look like we were through,” Harry said. “She’s having tea with Roseline Wilcox.”  
“Harry, I’m dead proud of you for wanting to do the right thing and make Hogwarts and Hogsmeade safer for everyone, but you and Dora might end up in a dangerous situation, pursuing this thing. You know how you can show everyone that Eastling and his mates are dead wrong? Just by being different than them,” Fortune said. “Your mum showed me what love was just by loving me. Being my friend. Giving me the slap of love when I needed it.”  
“The slap of love?” Harry asked.  
“The one that’s willing to slap you upside the head with the truth when you can’t see straight-that’s the one that really loves you. And that’s the slap of love,” Fortune said. “Be careful.”  
“I will. So will Dora. We can speak in our thoughts, so I can hear her, we’re planning this together,” Harry said. “But, when Roger was in my face…I heard Voldemort again. I’m trying to close my aura, why isn’t it working?”  
Fortune sighed. “I think you two must have some kind of connection, a magical bond linking you together,” Fortune sighed.  
“I don’t want to have a connection with him! He killed my parents!” Harry said.  
“I know, Harry,” Fortune said compassionately. “But Wizards can be bonded in all sorts of ways, spontaneously, ritualistically, or by a deed. A debt is a bond, being a guest in someone’s home is a bond, being related, naturally, is a bond. I’ll have to look into it more…and ask Dumbledore…I’ll keep you posted, Harry. Keep working with your energy and your aura.”  
“Okay,” Harry said, although given that he had just told Fortune it wasn’t working, he didn’t see how it would do any good to keep doing what wasn’t working. Still, after everything Fortune had told him about his mother, he wanted to respect Fortune.  
“Um, Professor?” Harry said.  
Fortune’s eyes widened slightly, in listening.  
“I loved a boy, too. I still love him, even though he’s dead, now. He was my teammate, in the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and…he died, in the Dark Trial. The Durmstrang team and the Beauxbatons team weren’t taken, just us, and…” Harry said, but found it hard to continue. “How did you lose him, Professor? The boy you loved?”  
“Voldemort,” Fortune said.  
It was always Voldemort. 

Pandora knew she couldn’t go to tea in the village with Lavender, Roseline, and their like in her school uniform. As the lunch hour began, after Transfiguration, she went up to Ravenclaw tower, to the room she shared with Cressida. For the first time since she had decided to infiltrate the Manticore, Pandora felt reluctance. She was used to beating down those ‘I don’t want to do this’ feelings and making herself do whatever it was she didn’t want to do, whether it was playing the piano to entertain dinner guests, who inevitably spoke in pitying asides about the Little Orphaned Lamb, opening a ball in a waltz with Draco that they were both too nervous to take any joy in, or suffering the strange attentions that Snape had interjected into their tutoring sessions towards the end, if it meant learning more about Dumbledore’s twelve uses of dragon’s blood.  
What, she asked herself, out of this situation do you want?  
She wanted to bring to justice whoever had run the Faeries out of Hogsmeade, and whoever had named her, Harry, and others publicly as blood traitors. She wanted a world where beauty would not be driven out by fear, where she would not be harassed, nor would Harry.  
Pandora waved her wand over herself. Her school uniform disappeared, replaced by the kind of clothes she would have worn in the Vale: a gleaming Summer Faerie woven silk wine pink empire waisted long sleeved gown, a white cashmere shawl, and chamomile blossoms were braided into her hair.  
She slipped on the Avalon pearls Harry had given her, and caressed them. They were a bit of the Goblin Market, a token of Harry’s love. Feeling ready, she headed out of the tower. She looked the part-but she had stopped short of the bonnet.  
She, and the other students heading to the village for lunch, went outside to the carriages by the school garden.  
“Dora!” Lavender waved cheerfully. Dora boarded the carriage Lavender had indicated.  
“Oh, I love your hair! How pastoral!” Lavender enthused. “What do you think, Callie?”  
Callirhoe Mullens smirked. “Very fresh, coz. It gives me nostalgia for last spring, when such ornaments were very much en vogue,” she said archly.  
Calligenia Teagarden, sitting beside her, said, “I rather like it. Its quaint, like a little doll representing unspoilt country life.”  
Calliste Winstone said, “Pandora, do you suppose you’ll be at the assembly at Tarleton Hall?”  
“I haven’t brought a gown with me!” she said.  
“Oh, poor dear!” Lavender gasped.  
The carriage ride’s conversation concerned how to procure Pandora a gown for a ball she had never heard of, at a place where she knew no one, but their tones were superficially sympathetic, seeming to take the line that she had been duped and distracted by first Snape then Harry, which was why she’d had no head for such prerequisite feminine duties as her wardrobe.  
Pandora noticed that Lavender’s words were often ignored, or met with competing remarks that silenced her.  
They reached the village, and walked to Madam Puddifoot’s tea house, shaded by their parasols.  
Roseline was waiting for them at a table with a pink tablecloth. She was a nymphish young woman, the same age as Lucy, with a sweet doll’s face, delicate pink lips, and chestnut brown hair that fell in the rich ringlets of an Edwardian actress. She wore a simple white eyelet dress, and looked like the personification of girlish innocence.  
“Pandora Black,” she chirped. “Those flowers in your hair are charming!”  
“Do you truly think so?” Pandora asked.  
“Oh, yes, quite novel! Will you do mine?” she asked, with a childish bounce in her seat.  
Pandora took out her wand, and waved it over Roseline’s hair. She, too, had a braid woven with chamomile flowers.  
Pandora feigned a subtle look of triumph at Callirhoe, who’d criticized her hair. She had to make this convincing. She didn’t give tuppence about a hairstyle rivalry. Think Stelliana Candlesnow, she thought, remembering the coldest girl she had known in the Vale. It must have worked, because Callirhoe shrank and looked younger.  
The girls ordered their tea from Madam Puddifoot, a bosomy and stout woman Harry had told her was a love witch. Dora ordered an herbal blend. The girls talked of the sort of trifles Dora was used to wiling away visits with other women and girls talking about: hairdressers, dressmakers, marriages and engagements that were recent or imminent, upcoming balls and what colors one should wear to them. She knew that beneath the banal surface, she was being vetted-should she be allowed into their world?  
“I shall write my Aunt Tarleton, and tell her th48at I wish you to attend her little fete as my friend,” Roseline said.  
Dora had her answer. She was in. On the ride back to school, the girls discussed gowns. Callirhoe, Calligenia, and Calliste pressed her to have a gown made with this dressmaker and that, and Calliste asked,  
“Or, does your Uncle Sirius not approve of that sort of thing?”  
“My uncle is a generous man,” Pandora said.  
By the time the carriage reached Hogwarts, Pandora felt tainted and exhausted. She raced to Ravenclaw Tower, and waved her wand, changing back into her school uniform.  
She needed the song of the mermaids drifting in through the windows, the gold embossed spines of the books, and to talk to someone about something besides hair and gowns.  
Kashmira noticed her and waved her down the stairs, to the chairs by the window in the common room.  
“What’d you get out of the Bonnet Squad?” she asked. Cressida stood from her chair, her blue eyes waiting for Pandora’s answer.  
“An in,” Pandora said. “I’m tentatively invited to the ball at Tarleton Hall-wherever that is.”  
“Oh, the Tarletons. Yes, they live outside the village, not far from Buttershaw. Slytherins, of course, and their fete is usually the beginning of the season, around here. Well done! They must really want to know whatever secrets you have to divulge about Harry Potter,” Cressida said.  
“They’re insufferable! They were going on about gowns, where is there to buy the silk, if the Faeries were driven out of the village by those clods, Crabbe and Goyle?” Pandora said.  
“Hope you didn’t say all that,” Kashmira said.  
“Of course not!” Pandora said. “I had to hold in all my thoughts, all my feelings, just like when I was a girl, in my Uncle Lucius’s house.” She sighed. “Well, at least this Tarleton thing seems lik an important occasion. And the initial contact with Roseline seems to have been decisive, in my favor. Callirhoe Mullens is quite jealous of me. And Lavender Brown is not as in favor as she thinks. It gives me a funny feeling. Did you ask about the Manticore?”  
“Mort’s got a contact he thinks can go in-so you won’t be doing this alone,” Kashmira said.  
“Who?” Pandora asked.  
“Neville Longbottom,” Kashmira said.  
Pandora recalled that she would soon see Neville at Botany Club.  
Buoyed by the presence of her friends, people who really liked her, rather than just wanted to examine her for scandal, Pandora went to her last class of the day, Herbology, with Hufflepuff. Through the glass windows of the greenhouse, she could see the Gold Coral trees for Botany Clube glistening like pyrite through the glass of the next greenhouse over.  
As the sun began to set, she slipped off towards the Quidditch pitch. The sun overhead was melon pink, spotted with clouds stealing the waning sunlight and reflecting it golden on their flossy bodies.  
Harry was waiting for her on the grass. She hurried down the steps between aisles of seats in the stadium to join him. Her heart was eager and glad at the sight of his smile.


	49. Chapter 49

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Dora steal some time; Ginny talks to McGonagall; Snape looks in on Ginny and disagrees with Regulus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those wondering about the timeline of events, Harry and Dora have known each other for about 4 weeks, and the time of year is spring.

Harry’s heart swelled as he watched Pandora hurry to him, looking happy and excited. He knew that the gossip they had both endured that day hurt, no matter how one tried to ignore it. She ran to him, and he gathered her in his arms beneath the golden and rose sunset sky.  
Pandora wound her arms around Harry’s neck, and he held tight to her waist as he picked her up off her feet, the way he had after the Quidditch game the week before. As he set her down, he bent his head and nuzzled into the soft pillow of dark curly hair between her neck and shoulder.  
“What time do you have to be back for Botany Club?” he asked.  
“They meet at 8,” she said.  
“Brilliant,” Harry said. “I got you a broom from the spares closet.”  
Pandora willed the broom on the ground to her hand. “Hmm…a Rocket 2.0. All right, not bad,” she said.  
“I thought you were new to Quidditch?” Harry marveled.  
Dora rolled her eyes playfully. “To being a live spectator? Yes. To hearing Draco talk incessantly about matches, brooms, teams, and his school team? Hardly! He is mad for sport, really, but his health stops him from being the sportsman he wishes to be.”  
“I never knew Malfoy was ill,” Harry said. “It sounds serious.”  
Pandora nodded, a concerned frown between her brows. “Yes, its not something we talk about, outside the family. That’s why I was so very surprised when my uncle and aunt sacked Mrs. Weasley. She’s cared for us since we were babies! Bringing in a new Healer means letting someone new in on the secret that the Malfoy heir has an Ill Wish in his blood,” she said.  
“An Ill Wish?” Harry asked.  
“A curse in the blood. When you curse someone-I mean, a true curse that all they do will fail, that their life will be ruined, not just a hex or jinx in a duel-it doesn’t just go away. I mean, maybe a skilled Curse Breaker could remove it, but, outside of that…it leaves traces, and they can be inherited. Sometimes, they manifest as an illness. We all know the signs: fits of bleeding beneath the skin, swelling, terrible fevers, pain all over the body…” Pandora said.   
“Dora…I’m so sorry your family has to go through that,” Harry said.  
“I worry for him, Harry. Out there at the Manor, with the company my uncle keeps, now. I’d forgotten what that world is like, but I felt it, today, with the Bonnet Squad. The lies behind smiles,” Dora said.  
“Try to let it all go. That’s what I do, when I fly. It’s the only place where I can let it all go,” Harry said.  
Pandora smiled. Harry watched with interest as she mounted her broom, hugging it with her thighs, her school skirt flirting around the slender broom.   
“Harry-you are going to take your broom, aren’t you?” she asked, with a smirk.  
“Oh, yeah,” he said, realizing he had lingered too long, and then he took and mounted his Firebolt.  
“I reckon we can find the Grange,” he said.  
“Really? How?” she asked.  
“Well, I think it works sort of like Parseltongue. I don’t just speak to snakes, I sort of sense them, feel out where they are, and what they’re thinking. So, I think I can sense the Grange, too. That’s what happened in that dream we had, and the night the wolves attacked us. If I can talk to it, I think I can find it,” he said.  
“I’m with you, my love-lead us there,” Pandora said.  
Those words buoyed Harry’s confidence, and together, they took the air. The sun was a crimson disc, like a blood orange, and its waning light was still orange at the top of the horizon, but evening was ascending, bleeding from the bottom, a shadowy violet spreading to the rest of the sky. As they flew, Pandora’s dark brown hair streamed behind her, and the light of the setting sun cast on her dark honey brown skin. Harry’s heart was full of love for her. They spoke little, lest the wind get in their mouths, but through their red chord they shared a plethora of joys.  
Harry flew in the general direction of the village, and beneath them its Victorian edifices looked like a Christmas display. The village’s limits gave way to a green quilt of forests, meadows, fields, orchards, manor houses surrounded by parks, and cottages, including the two story brick house where Harry lived with his family.  
He focused, the way Fortune was teaching them to do when they cast energy shields around their auras. It felt a bit like looking for Ginny in the Forbidden Forest and the Fens, but less urgent.   
“Dora! Look! There!” he said, and pointed. It was the Tudor manor, surrounded by ancient oaks, and the apple orchard like a bride’s bouquet. They smiled triumphantly at each other, and inclined their brooms downwards, to land at Orchard Grange.

Ginny didn’t give up easily. For a long time after First Year, she had been buoyed by gratitude at her body for holding on so long as the venom of the basilisk spread from the wound the creature had inflicted. She’d lain in the marshy, muddy, shallow water of the Fens, trying to align her breathing to the drowsiness spreading through her body, and marshalling her breath like a wave in the direction of the pain around the wound. Instead of fighting it with resistance or meeting it with fear, she went with it. But, her pride in that experience had faded as returning to school meant that she was met with the usual rejections, jeers, and innuendos.   
Once again, she was marshalling all her energy to her purpose, gathering her courage. She wouldn’t let her goal to intern for the Guild end with Ms. Fridaythorpe’s snobbery. She knocked on the door of Professor McGonagall’s office.  
“Ms. Weasley,” she said, in her thick Scottish accent. “Is something the matter?”  
“Um, no, what would be the matter?” Ginny said.   
As McGonagall, opened the door, Ginny saw that Fortune, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, was sitting in a chair beside McGonagall’s desk. He was, as usual, wearing Muggle clothes, a smart shirt, tie, and blue business slacks cut in the Italian style, skinny at the ankles, framing his lithe, boyish figure to chic advantage.   
“There’s been some troubling behavior from some of my Slytherin students, towards students from other houses. If you’ve seen or been the victim of anything like that, you can tell us,” Fortune said.  
“I think I know what you mean. All that talk about who’s a blood traitor and all? Well, I think its more systemically rooted, you know what I mean?” she said.  
Fortune’s ash blonde eyebrows raised, and he and McGonagall exchanged an impressed look.  
“Elaborate, Weasley,” McGonagall said.  
“Um…kids in Slytherin are raised to believe stuff like that. And…what we see out of how they act in school is a product of that, but…it continues, doesn’t it? Carries over into the landowners they become, and the Guild officials they become…the sort of laws they pass, and…all that,” Ginny said. “Then, everyone else has to feel it, because of the power they’ve got to enforce what they believe.”  
Ginny felt like an idiot. She didn’t have Roger’s gift with words. No one would be clapping after her every word. Nor did she think she could lure someone to a garden with her words, as Tom had her. There were the speakers and the silent, the tricksters and the tricked, the weak and the strong, in this world, Ginny suspected. Was she fighting a losing battle, trying to get ahead even a little bit?  
To her surprise, Fortune said, “Yes, sis!” and snapped his fingers.   
Ginny smirked. Ron had taken her to Molly houses, and she knew this was the way Mollies applauded each other as they paraded their finery in ‘Promenades’, showing off their elaborate feminine apparel that would put any Pureblood matron or Londinium courtesan to shame.   
McGonagall looked him up and down, then turned to Ginny and said, “That is very astute, for a young witch your age, Weasley. Take 25 points. But, I take it you aren’t here to report something?”  
“Um, no, actually, I just wanted to change my schedule. I wanted to drop Magizoology for Political Science,” Ginny said.  
“Well, that should be fine, they’re both electives. Go see Ms. Fridaythorpe in record keeping about it,” McGonagall said.  
“You see, I did, and she told me that wasn’t right for me. She said that, you know, since my mum was a first degree healer, I should stick to that, and shadow Madam Pomfrey, and take a First Degree in healing, and set up in a village as a cunning woman, or work in an apothecary, and that diplomacy classes were for young gentlemen,” Ginny said. “But, you see, ma’am, Sirius Black actually asked me to be his intern this summer…but maybe he was joking...”  
All her words came out in a breathless tumble, and by the time she was done, McGonagall looked incredulously cross.  
“She denied your request? And said diplomacy was for gentlemen?!” McGonagall said heatedly.  
Ginny dared only nod her head.  
“I shall be having a word with Ms. Fridaythorpe. We, here at Hogwarts, never decide a student’s future for them, especially not dissuading them from a vocation on the basis of gender!” McGonagall said. “I will see to your schedule myself, Weasley!”  
“Thank you, Ma’am,” Ginny said.  
“And, another matter: if Mr. Black was being flippant when he promised you a position, I will have a word with him, too!” McGonagall added.  
“I’ll…um, remind him, Ma’am,” Ginny said.  
McGonagall nodded, and Ginny left feeling giddy. She had hoped for the best, but life had told her one must concurrently expect the worse. Sometimes people got sick or injured and never got better, sometimes the boy who rescues you from the monster doesn’t fall in love with you, and sometimes the boy who does is not Prince Charming, but the villain of the piece. Anything and everything could go two ways…but, this had gone Ginny’s way. She felt happy, and realized for the first time in a long time that she did.  
Ginny wrote a quick note to Sirius informing him that she had changed her schedule, subtly asking when she would be able to accompany him to the Guild Hall, and went up to the Owlery to post it with one of the school owls. When a bird landed on the windowsill, she expected that it was an owl returned from a delivery. Instead, it was a raven. It was the biggest such bird she had ever seen, and had ruffled, ink colored feathers with a beguiling indigo luster, and large, intelligent eyes.  
“Well, hello,” she said to the raven. “Who do you belong to? I haven’t got my own bird. That’s why I’m up here, isn’t it? You’re a fine bird.”  
The bird paused, and flew away abruptly.

The Raven took to the air. Its Master was calling. Its Master was close. The Raven flew, feeling the bond between Vampire and Ghoul pull him like a thread to Regulus Black’s side. He touched down in the forest in the mountains outside Hogsmeade, and once more became Severus Snape.  
“What were you doing?” Regulus asked coldly.  
“Surveillance. Reconaissance. Espionage. Choose whatever term pleases you,” Severus said. The night creatures of the forest were waking. A chorus of evening frogs rang unseen through the forest, and the lone hoot of an owl sounded.  
“You were meant to be watching my daughter, not the Weasley girl. What is your interest in her? I have taken notice. You watch her, when you are meant to be tracking Dora. Your thoughts turn to her. Another young woman whose budding talent attracted your notice? Would you like to give her private lessons, too?” Regulus drawled mockingly.   
“She’s a friend of Pandora’s, I’m sure you’ve noticed,” Severus lied.   
“You watch her when Pandora is nowhere near. Its because she looks like Lily, isn’t it? Rather like seeing a ghost, isn’t it?” Regulus said. “You’re developing a sentimental streak.”  
He had to give him something, and it couldn’t be Flamel. If Regulus still thought Flamel was at large, then his plans wouldn’t change, and Severus could get the Lapis from the Black family vault, as he and Dumbledore had planned. Not from him would the Vampire learn that Flamel was at Hogwarts.  
“She’s my daughter. Mine, and Lily’s,” he said.  
“Impossible!” the Vampire sneered.   
“There was no Squib girl, in the Vale. It was Lily. She came to me after the Dark Lord murdered Potter, and I housed her and Harry,” Snape said.  
“And, as the Muggles say, one thing led to another? I could only see a woman of her caliber turning to you when widowed, desperate, and alone in the world,” Regulus said.   
“Lily was not desperate!” Snape seethed, legitimately loosing his temper. “She was the best friend I ever had, the best person I ever knew. We were both in despair. I had lost Ada, she had lost Potter, and we comforted each other. It was unexpected, but it was beautiful, and then….Rose. We had Rose. But, when the Dark Lord caught up to Lily…I found Rose, but I had to give her to better people to raise. What kind of life would she have had, with me as a father?”  
“So, you abandoned your daughter, and returned to my side?” Regulus said.  
“I did not abandon Rose. Not the way you did Pandora. Even before your foolish and morbid experiments with Vampire’s blood and all manner of vile substances to bring Ada back, you had given up on life. You let yourself go mad, and you reveled in your madness, like a little boy playing in a fort in the back garden! You had no qualms about letting Pandora be raised by that twit Narcissa and that vain ass Lucius. You didn’t care!” Snape accused.   
Years of resentment were unleashed like knives. He hated Regulus for putting him in the position to choose between protecting Pandora, by protecting the secret that Flamel was at Hogwarts, and Rose. He had made him give up Rose all over again, and Severus remembered clearly what his arms felt like when he was no longer holding her soft, warm little body, when he was placing her on the steps of the Weasley’s house. His arms had felt empty and heavy as he walked away.

It had been torture to hide his turmoil behind the mask of the stoic Professor when a search was organized for her in her first year, when Pansy Parkinson and some other girls in his own Slytherin house admitted luring her to the edge of the forest with a fake love note from Harry Potter, when it became clear that she had been taken to the monster’s lair. She was so still and small as she lay in the hospital wing, and he had to ignore the pain in his chest and steady his hands as he prepared the remedy for a basilisk’s venom: phoenix tears, unicorn horn, amber, and honey. Only the moment she had taken her first breath, a blood coated, squirming bundle in the midwife Molly Weasley’s arms, shrieking at the shock of being alive, had been as miraculous as when Severus touched his daughter’s forehead and realized that her fever had broken, his antidote had worked, she would live. Her hair, which was a stunning cinnamon red, was just like Lily’s, and it was strewn all over her pillow as she slept. He left before she woke. All he had ever done was leave her…but it was what was best for her.   
Regulus looked dangerously calm, and said with palpable disgust, “I didn’t choose to go mad. You chose to abandon your daughter. Don’t hate me because you are a coward. So, little Ginny Weasley is truly Rose Snape…”  
“Rose Rowan Snape,” Severus said.  
“Rowan? Rowan is unlucky. It repels magic,” Regulus said, with distaste.  
“Lily was Muggleborn, and…I’m half Muggle. As you said, rowan is notoriously repellant of magic. Lily said that since rowan is so unmagical, naming her thus would honor and embrace that half of Rose isn’t magical, at all. Her Muggle half. If she turned out to be a Squib, or just not very good at or interested in magic, we planned to explain to her the meaning of her name and tell her that we didn’t care if she was a witch. We just wanted her to be happy,” Severus said.  
“That doesn’t sound much like you, my friend. But, it sounds just like Lily,” Regulus said.   
His tone was kinder. Severus felt less angry, too. They had both said rotten things. And, they were both horrible fathers.   
“She’s a beautiful girl,” Regulus said.  
It was true, Severus thought-she looked just like her mother. But, despite the resemblance, there was something fragile and wounded about Ginny that he had rarely seen in Lily, only when she first came to him in the Vale, distraught by Potter’s death. Lily had been fierce, loving, and lovable, secure in her worth and quite capable of fighting her own battles. Severus sensed that this was not the case with Ginny, not entirely.   
He reminded himself that he had no right to worry about her.   
“Take her. Pandora. When she and Potter return to Hogwarts from their little jaunt. I assumed they were heading to the Grange, which we cannot penetrate. But, there is no reason not to act when they return,” Regulus ordered.  
“No!” Severus said, although his head swam as he said the word. Ghouls didn’t refuse their masters.  
“No?” Regulus asked.  
“She’s with Harry. He’ll try to put up a fight. I refuse to hurt Lily’s son, for the likes of you,” Severus said.  
“Disarm Harry, stun him, summon ropes around him. There are several bloodless ways to immobilize an underweight sixteen year old wizard. The most damaging spell in his repertoire is probably the Jelly Legs Jinx,” Regulus said.  
They both knew that wasn’t true. Harry had slain a basilisk, had survived Riddle’s sham Tournament, and had dueled with Death Eaters and walked away. As much as it perturbed Severus that Harry had no aptitude and showed no effort at Potions, he had to admit that if one was a walking target for Voldemort, it only made sense to apply oneself rigorously at Defense Against the Dark Arts, even to the detriment of the rest of the Hogwarts curriculum.   
“I will not strike Lily’s son, Rose’s brother, for you,” Severus repeated.   
He loved Harry-he had been a jolly little toddler, who loved everyone and learned fast, very present and engaging. And, he was Lily’s…but, under that clod Sirius’s influence, he’d grown into a nosy and precocious kid who was always trying to solve some mystery. Someone, Severus figured, had to give him detention and tons of homework or he would poke his head into every forbidden corner of the castle, and break his neck trying to solve a mystery. Hogwarts wasn’t a bloody episode of “Scooby Doo”, where the villain was unmasked at the end to be a smarmy businessman defrauding an insurance company. In the world of magic, love and evil were both strong forces, and both posed outsized dangers which Muggles couldn’t fathom. Harry, unfortunately, thought like a Muggle, and Severus couldn’t get close enough to him to talk him out of that tendency, but he could thwart it in other ways.   
Regulus glared. “Fine! Continue to watch my daughter, and don’t become distracted by your’s. Last I heard, Flamel was in Ethiopia,” he said.  
Dumbledore must have planted false intelligence of Flamel’s whereabouts. Severus was grateful. 

Pandora and Harry gladly breathed in the sweet, evening chilled air of the apple orchard, as they walked with their brooms in hand to a spring with a small waterfall pouring down a cliffside. They sat on mossy boulders, and looked up at the stars appearing between the latticework of oak leaves in the violet sky. Nameless wildflowers filled a small meadow that stretched from the edge of the forest to the feet of the rocks, soft grass and fragrant flowers held in a bowl. Wild plum trees grew at the edge of the meadow, and like the apple blossoms the plum blossoms gave off a sweet smell that held a whiff of the fruit that would take their place.  
“I love it here. The smell of the blossoms and wildflowers, the sound of the water, the air…” Dora said, with so much pleasure in her voice she slightly moaned.  
“I’m glad you feel at home here,” Harry said.   
He liked having a place to welcome her and give her. His head lay in her lap. She caressed his face, and Harry closed his eyes to intensify the feeling of her fingertips on his skin.  
“I’ve felt at home with you since I met you, Harry. Your eyes…your smile. You felt familiar to me,” Dora confided.  
“I felt like that, too,” Harry said. “Not like I met you…like I found you.”  
Dora laughed. “Are we mad?”   
Harry smiled. “Nope. Its magic! Who knows how it all works?”  
Dora smiled warmly down at him. She leaned down to kiss him, and her dark hair was a veil around them, shading their faces like the tendrils of a willow. Harry kissed her slowly, softly. He reached for her waist, and caressed her sides as they kissed.   
“Can I tell you something?” Harry whispered against her lips.  
“Yes, what?” Pandora asked.  
“When you slapped me this morning, I sort of liked it…” Harry said, and sucked at Dora’s lips, tentatively darting the tip of his tongue at the gate of her parted lips. Her lips were curved in a smile against his, as she pressed their lips into a kiss and her tongue answered his. Desire was blossoming beneath Harry’s skin. Their kiss deepened, as the night was deepening from pale to dark violet, and the stars which bore the names of Pandora’s ancestors were beginning to shine brighter against the dark sky.  
When finally they broke away to breathe, she said, “Bruises and slaps…you are an odd boy, Harry Potter.”  
“I can still feel where you bruised me this weekend. I’ve still got them,” he said.  
“Ah, have you? Here?” Dora asked, and unbuttoned Harry’s school shirt.   
Her fingertips tenderly caressed each hickey they found, looking into his eyes. Harry tried to hold her gaze, not to break eye contact from her gray eyes like the cool, gray waters of an enchanted fountain, and the tried not to tremble at her touch. But, he was shuddering inside, like a plum tree about to lose all of its blossoms in the wind.   
Harry couldn’t help it, he closed his eyes, and moaned, as Dora’s lips fitted around his nipple. Harry cupped her chin, and coaxed her to come up to him. Her body lay along his, and she kissed him. They drank each other’s kisses, moaned into each other’s mouths.  
“Harry…touch me…” Dora moaned.  
“Dora…I can’t…” Harry managed, but he wanted nothing more than to be out of his clothes, Dora out of her’s, to explore her skin, to mine every inch of her for the sweetness promised by its honey hue, to know how she tasted and felt, to lie in the grass with her.  
“Oh, yes you can, dear boy,” she said, tenderly touching him. Stars were born and died behind Harry’s eyes as he closed them and tried to ground his breath.  
“Dora…” be moaned breathily, and obeyed her earlier request.   
He slipped his hand under her school skirt, though his hand was shaking, and found the softest, most hidden skin. Harry kissed her sweaty face as if comforting her. Each noise she made rang through his body, a vine of wildfire writhing along his spine. Harry’s body wanted things he had only read about in Seamus’s filthy magazines, or heard boys joke about, and now it was all coming together and his body trembled with this new wanting and ancient intuition. The wanting was a foreshadowing of fulfillment, a heady pleasure in itself, and he shared it with Dora.  
“Harry,” she sighed. “You’re right, we should stop.”  
At these words, Harry withdrew, and began hastily buttoning his school shirt and catching his breath.  
“Right…Botany Club,” Harry sighed.  
“Botany Club,” Dora agreed.   
They both laughed. Dora and Harry mounted their brooms, and flew back the way they had came to Hogwarts. They kissed one last time at the Quidditch pitch in the shade of the awning over the tower to the commentary booth, which faced the mountains rather than the castle, so anyone standing there would not be seen by onlookers.  
Harry caressed Dora’s hand with his thumb, reluctant to let go.   
“That constellation, which is it?” he asked her, pointing to a random configuration of stars. Dora smirked, knowing he was stalling for time.  
“Those are the Pleiades. The Seven Sisters. But you can only see six of them. Merope hides her face for shame,” Dora said.  
“What’s she ashamed for?” Harry said.  
“She’s a goddess, and she fell in love with a mortal,” Pandora said.  
“Maybe she’s not up there at all. Maybe she ducked out, and told her sisters, ‘Cover me, come up with something good’, so now you’ve got this brilliant alibi about how she’s invisible,” Harry said.  
Pandora laughed. “And she’s really here, on earth, with the one she loves. I like that version!” she said. Harry and Dora lingered, smiling, basking in the silence of being together, and then awkwardness began to seep in because they both had to go and neither wanted to.  
“I have to go up to the Greenhouse,” she said.  
“You shouldn’t walk alone. I can leave my broom in the spare closet, go invisible, and follow you,” Harry said.  
Dora nodded. Harry reluctantly put his Firebolt in the closet, as well as the Rocket he’d borrowed for Dora. He’d just come down on the way back and fetch it.  
Harry had been able to turn invisible as long as he could remember. When he was a kid, it happened when he was afraid. As he got older, he learned to selectively use the ability. He felt a certain itch along his skin, and when he held his own hand up before his eyes, he saw nothing. Invisible, he followed Dora to the Greenhouse.

Dora arrived at Botany Club, and was greeted by the warmth of the Greenhouse, and Neville Longbottom’s shy but enthusiastic smile.   
“Dora, look! The Gold Coral trees!” Neville said.  
“They are singular specimens!” Professor Sprout said proudly. Dora turned her attention completely to the trees, which were like willows shedding tendrils of gold beads.   
As Professor Sprout lectured about the various components of the plant, the members of Botany Club drew the plant before them and labelled its parts.  
“I heard you had a hard day, Dora,” Neville said. “But, Mordecai said I would be able to help you with it, maybe.”  
“You think you could help me find out more about…our friends?” Dora said, impressed at Neville’s cool composure when speaking in code of the Manticore investigation.  
“Dora, will you go to the ball at Tarleton Hall with me?” Neville said, rather more loudly than necessary. It drew sideways glances from Daisy Spriggs and Bronwyn Wollering, who began whispering.  
“Well done,” Pandora mouthed.

The rest of Dora’s week seemed to move quickly. The gossip that Pandora had broken up with Harry Potter and was now dating Neville Longbottom swirled around her like a dust storm. The Bonnet Squad girls swarmed around her, too, and she found herself having tea at Madam Puddifoots, most days with Roseline, Lavender, and the Nymphs, as she began to call Callirhoe, Calligenia, and Calliste, for their names were derived from, and easily confused like, minor goddesses of myth. Their talk was the usual Vale banality, fashion and romantic intrigue, and vicious sarcasm about people they looked down on. One would never suspect that they were capable of magic, for they never talked about their studies. Meanwhile, more students had reason to complain of being slipped Traitor cards, and even more were the victims of malicious pranks that subtly utilized Dark Magic.   
Although she wanted to accompany Harry to the Pendragon to check on the Bear Hunter werewolf pack which Remus was sheltering, she spent her Hogsmeade visit driving in an open carriage with Deverell and Roseline, Vivian and Lavender, and Blaise.  
As they were turning down a muddy lane in the village, a woman in a ratty crochet shawl and a faded brown dress darted in front of the carriage. Vivian, who was, to Lavender’s delight, whipping the horses which pulled it, tightened the reins and halted the vehicle.  
“What the Devil are you playing at, hag?!” Deverell demanded, his beautiful face deformed by fury.  
“Where is she?! Where is she?! What have you done with Sarah? Where is my Sarah?” she cried, distraught.  
“Silencio!” Deverell said, pointing his wand at the woman.   
Her voice was stolen, but she continued to wordlessly demand. Dora could read the name Sarah on her lips. She was like Cassandra at Troy, saying a prophecy no one wanted to hear.   
Dora leapt out of the carriage.  
“Finis l’enchantment,” Dora said, waving her own wand.   
The woman gasped, and sobbed wordlessly. Dora didn’t care about the mud on her Winter Faerie silk gown’s hem, or that the Manticore were watching her. She had to help this woman, and she couldn’t even pretend to be like them, for one more second. This woman’s pain was too strong to ignore. The woman, who was in her middle years, older than Dora’s Aunt Cissy, placed her face in Dora’s bosom, wrapped her arms tight around Dora’s waist, and sobbed, getting used to her voice again.  
“Get away from that begging old hedge witch, coz,” Blaise demanded.  
“She’s distraught! Can’t you see? We need to help her! And you-you hexed her!” Pandora said, pointing her finger at Deverell.  
“I was calming her down!” Deverell said.  
“Oh, can’t we do something? She is upset…”Lavender said, looking from side to side as if hoping help would come.  
“Sarah…” the woman murmured into Dora’s clavicle. “You took her. You, the pretty lad that cursed me. You’d come round, sweet talking my Sarah, made her think you’d take her away, make her a proper lady…”  
Her accusations against Deverell faded into more subdued tears than she had previously wept. Pandora looked at Roseline’s sweet doll face. She didn’t seem surprised at a word of the woman’s story.  
“Pandora! Get back here!” Blaise said.  
“What’s your name, Ma’am?” she asked Sarah’s mother.   
“Applethwaite. Vesta Applethwaite,” she said.  
“Have you an aunt…or a cousin, called Dervla Appelthwaite?” Pandora asked.  
“Yes! In the Vale! My aunt, Dervla,” Mrs. Applethwaite said, nodding up and down.   
“She’s our cook! At the Manor! Malfoy Manor. Lucius Malfoy is my uncle. I grew up taste testing her nymphberry torte, and moonmelon meringue…” Pandora said.  
“You’re that dear little orphan girl, the lady doctor’s daughter. Bless you…” Vesta said.  
“Blaise, I know this woman’s aunt. Mrs. Applethwaite, she’s one of our’s, I have to look after her relative,” Dora said.   
They all knew that a well born young witch was raised to be the lady of a well maintained household, and one of her duties was to look after the tenants and staff. Blaise looked reluctant, but then relented, and said,   
“Where do you propose to take her?”   
“My uncle owns a tavern, the Pendragon. I can take her there, and calm her down,” Pandora said.  
“I’ll come with you,” Blaise said.  
“No, she’s my responsibility, and its right up there, up that way,” Dora said.  
“Fine, but we’re pulling the carriage up, and when she’s sorted you’re heading back up to school with us,” Blaise said.  
“Maybe Neville wouldn’t like you being quite so possessive of his girlfriend, Blaise,” Lavender said.  
“If Neville Longbottom were a real man, I’d be worried,” Blaise said.  
Pandora could feel Lavender’s frightened gaze on her back as she walked up to the Pendragon with Vesta Applethwaite.


	50. Chapter 50

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pandora enlists Remus's help, but can't promise to stay out of harms' way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please contemplate these words, which Pandora says to Remus in the chapter:
> 
> 'If a girl has a hair out of place, she’s slovenly, if she dresses up she's ostentatious, if she laughs, she’s disruptive, if she cries, she’s manipulative, if she’s clever, she’s competing with boys, if she isn’t interested in love she’s uptight, if she is, she’s a whore. And this, from other women, as well as men'.
> 
> Since women have, historically, and continue to have fewer guaranteed human rights than men, they have been easy targets upon which to vent frustration and abuse. The struggle to be an equal human being for women of all walks of life continues. When I write Pandora, I go into the heart and mind of a young woman who was destined from birth to be shackled with a limited education, child marriage, early motherhood, and a secluded life with many limitations. Pandora escaped all of these expectations and created a new destiny for herself, on her terms. Pandora's world is fictional, but the things she escaped have parallels in real life. J.K. Rowling's work is rich with parallels to real life struggles for equality,such as those of werewolves,house-elves, and Muggleborns, and I always wanted to write what it would be like for Pureblood girls trying to break free from the gilded cage of patriarchy. I thank J.K Rowling for her creations and her example. Enjoy the chapter!

“Thank you very much, Ostrulf,” Remus said, as the werewolf youth helped him roll a barrel of just delivered mead into the cellar.  
“No problem,” the young man said.   
He was the oldest of the wolf youths in the Bear Hunter camp, Harry’s age, sixteen. With his wild blond hair and long limbs, he looked like a young Robert Plant.  
“How are your mum and sister getting on?” Remus asked.   
Ostrulf’s mother, Reginleif, and sister, Estrild, had both been wives of Ulfric, jewels in the crown once he had seized power from Ostrulf’s father, whom he had challenged and defeated as Remus had Ulfric. Such were the vicissitudes of power in the volatile world of werewolves. Remus had spied in camps like that during the war, and bands of ferals bound not by tribal tradition but formed in necessity, like the bands of homeless that lived in major cities.   
“They’re settling in. Estie wants to go up to school at the castle,” Ostrulf laughed, as if this was something that could never happen.  
“You know, Ostrulf, I went to school up at the castle,” Remus said.  
Ostrulf looked at him in a mixture of disbelief and awe. “So…you have a wand, and all?”  
Remus smiled. “Yes,” Remus said, and nodded.   
“And, you can speak spells? But…you’re a wolf,” Ostrulf said.  
“And, a wizard,” Remus said.   
Ostrulf looked confused, and waited for an explanation.  
“Ostrulf, many things are possible in this life. Maybe other people might not always understand that, but that does nothing to change your truth,” Remus said.  
Ostrulf nodded, trying to understand, then both their attention was drawn by shouts of   
“Dr. Lupin!”  
Remus recognized Pandora’s voice, and called, “In the cellar, Dora!”  
Dora came downstairs to the cellar.  
“I gladly serve you, Gray Eyed Lady! You are terrible, grave, and grim, and I tremble at your coming!” Ostrulf said, his eyes widened with awe and devotion.  
“Oh, that’s very kind! But…there is no need,” Pandora said, almost completely hiding her mystification.  
Remus smiled bemusedly. “In Wulfish culture, gray eyed women are considered very wise and powerful. Some say they are fallen Valkyrie, Odin’s shieldmaidens, born again on earth, or powerful seeresses and sorceresses,” he said.  
“I assure you, I’m just an ordinary witch. All my family have gray eyes,” Pandora said.  
“All?!” Ostrulf said, as if he expected a phalanx of Valkyries to pour in the cellar.   
Remus looked at Dora and saw at once that she was upset. She was also wearing the 19th century garb of the Pureblood elite, which he found curious. Whenever she was at the cottage, she wore Muggle clothes, and seemed to delight in doing so.   
“Pandora, what seems to be the matter?” Remus asked.  
For a minute, her eyes were so like her father’s. When Regulus was confessing something difficult, his eyes had widened then relaxed as he took a fortifying exhale…like when he told Remus that he was marrying Ada Vaillancourt, for instance.   
“Dr. Lupin, there is a woman…she’s very upset,” Pandora said, “please, come have a look at her?”  
That wasn’t as thorough an explanation as Remus would have liked, but his wartime spy years had taught him that when you had someone’s trust, with patience you would have their story.   
“Ostrulf, excuse me,” he said, and went upstairs to the pub with Dora.   
He and Sirius purchased the Pendragon shortly after Sirius’s Uncle Alphard died, leaving his beloved nephew all he possessed. Between the Pendragon, the Molly House, and Alphard’s magical antiques shop, called Between Scylla and Charybdis, they did all right with passive income, which had blessedly allowed them to devote so much time to Harry. Remus was proud of Sirius’s work in the Guild, but he missed the abundant family time they’d once had.  
Sitting at a table was a forlorn, overworked looking woman Remus recognized by sight from the village, but she had never come to him for the minor ailments he was able to treat as a First Degree Healer. She wore a faded brown dress, a bedraggled crochet shawl, her red gold hair was askew, and her face was red and blotchy from crying.  
“Hello,” he said, calmly and kindly, “I’m Remus Lupin.”  
“Vesta Applethwaite, sir,” She said, her voice still quavering.  
“What seems to be the trouble, Madam Applethewaite?” he asked.  
“Madam? Me?” she laughed. “Oh, you’re a good egg. I’m just plain folks, Doctor. Vesta’s fine,” she said.  
“All right, Vesta. Can you tell me what has you out of sorts?” Remus asked.   
Pandora pulled a chair from another table, and sat beside Vesta. She looked at her encouragingly, and patiently, trying to make it safe for the woman to speak.   
“I’ll be fine, by and by. When I’ve caught my breath, I’ll be on my way,” Vesta said.  
“Dr., I was driving with Deverell, Vivian, Roseline, Blaise, and Lavender, and Vivian nearly hit Vesta with the carriage. Deverell took it out on her, and cast a silencing charm on her,” Pandora confessed.  
“My God,” Remus murmured. “Magic is a shock if you weren’t expecting it. Let me give you some lavender pills, for the shock. No charge, whatsoever. Medicine should be free to all who need it.”  
“Bless you. That one…I don’t expect much out of that lad,” she said.  
“Deverell Eastling?” Remus said.   
Remus felt he was missing something. He and Sirius had discussed that Deverell, the son of a Death Eater who had died rather early on in the war, killed in an ambush of the Prewett brothers, had been giving Dora a hard time at school. Why was she now driving with him, wearing Vale dress? The story would begin to unspool. He just had to wait.  
“Have you encountered this young man in the village before, Vesta?” Remus said.  
To his surprise, she laughed. It was an ironic laugh, with a hint of bitterness, as if he wouldn’t have asked if he knew her story. It then turned to more tears.  
Pandora handed Vesta a linen handkerchief from her reticule. The woman nodded in gratitude, and loudly blew her nose.  
“He’s the one my Sarah went off with,” Vesta said. “It’s all my fault…”  
“I’m sure its not,” Remus said soothingly. “I’ll fetch those pills.”  
Remus got his Healer’s bag from behind the bar, and extracted the lavender extract pills, a mild sleep aid which had a calming effect.  
Vesta gladly took them with a glass of mead, and said, “I have three, Sarah and her brother and sister. Sarah was the lucky one-her dad just left quietly. I didn’t have to go to court, or anything. I had the three of them to look after on my own, but at least they were all mine, no one interfering….except, my grandmother. She raised me, my parents were young, and both ran off in different directions. She was all I had, and I was always grateful to her. Too grateful. I didn’t see how hard she could be, especially on girls. She’s old, you know, she still thinks its girls who will run wayward first, if you aren’t hard on them. I knew nothing else, but Sarah, she’s a fighter. If you push, she pushes back. Half from fear, half from anger. She and my Gran couldn’t get along, as she got older, and I…I can’t choose between them. I wouldn’t try. That’s not how love goes. But, Sarah didn’t feel that way. She felt like I chose Gran, took her part, and believed stories about her that aren’t true.”  
“Does Sarah attend Hogwarts?” Remus asked.  
“We haven’t got magic. We just live here in town, making dresses for Madam Arklow. She’d love it if we had some magic, the work would go faster,” Vesta said.  
A family of Squibs, dressmakers, Remus filed away.  
“I’d forgotten what its like to be young, and if someone’s hard on you, you figure they don’t like you, or don’t want you. I never let myself think like that, because Gran was all I had, so I had to take her as she was. But, Sarah had me, too, but she didn’t feel like she did, since in her eyes I took Gran’s part. She felt like I believed the stories about her, that she was crazy for the lads, that she started arguments….Gran is a suspicious woman, a tough old thing who keeps people at arm’s length. I should have seen that she didn’t warm to Sarah the way she did me. I suppose people have favorites, though they shouldn’t. You create the trouble you’re trying to avoid, sometimes. She just wanted someone to love her, and he said it was him,” Vesta said.  
“Deverell?” Remus asked.  
“They must have met when she was coming out of the dressmakers’ , and he was down in the village from the castle. She began skiving off work, and of course Gran raised Cain about that…which only made Sarah go out, more. I was working…I wish I’d been there, more,” Vesta said.  
“You have to support your children. They rely on you,” Remus consoled her.  
She nodded. “She didn’t come back! Not since January! I haven’t seen her in two months, nearly three, no letters, no word…I know he knows where she is! Where is she?!”  
Vesta broke down into sobs, and Pandora pulled her into her arms. Pandora was a thin young girl, Vesta a stout woman, but she managed to fit her arms around her as best as she could.  
Remus helped Vesta up to a room above the tavern, and set calming lavender oil to diffuse in water over a lit flame on a small ceramic lamp on the dresser. Pandora and Remus watched as her breathing became even with sleep.  
“That poor woman,” Remus said, as they turned to go back to the pub.  
“How could she treat her daughter that way? How could she not take her part, no matter what the old woman was saying? I always wanted a mother. I thought it would be like having Aunt Cissy, but… all my own. To not have to share with Draco, Lucy, and Anthea, to not have to constantly remind myself to let them have more of her, not to expect quite as much. But that’s how Sarah must have felt about Vesta, with that grandmother in between them,” Pandora said.  
“Families are complicated. Sometimes the familiarity of living in a household with someone allows us to project our uglier impulses onto them. If there is violence, it begins at home, sadly,” Remus said. “and, it sounds as if Madam Applethwaite the Elder has antiquated beliefs about how to raise girls, with the terror of straying so firmly fixed that they stay on the straight and narrow.”  
“Its not fair. If a girl has a hair out of place, she’s slovenly, if she laughs, she’s disruptive, if she cries, she’s manipulative, if she’s clever, she’s competing with boys, if she isn’t interested in love she’s uptight, if she is, she’s a whore. And this, from other women, as well as men,” Pandora said.  
“Very true, and I wish I had an answer. But, I know what its like to live every day negotiating other people’s low opinion of what I am capable of-I’m sorry that so many face that,” Remus said. “Pandora, why are you with those kids, instead of Harry and his friends?”  
“Doctor, there is a club, of sorts, at Hogwarts, called the Manticore…” Pandora began.   
“The Manticore,” Remus said. “still?”  
“It was around in your time?” Pandora asked.  
“I was a Prefect…so, I often saw what their idea of fun was. I also saw that for all the evidence and testimony I collected, the maxim ‘boys will be boys’ prevailed and nothing was done to seriously punish those involved, no matter how shaken or frightened the victims of their pranks,” Remus said.   
“Similar things are going on now,” Pandora said, and filled Remus in on the so-called ‘pranks’ that had happened at Hogwarts. They had a sadistic edge, to Remus’s ear.   
“And, we think Crabbe and Goyle were acting on behalf of this Manticore when they ran the Faeries out. Who was involved in the Manticore you knew?” Pandora said.  
“Boys who all became Death Eaters upon graduation,” Remus answered.  
“Was my father….?” Pandora asked.  
“No, no. Regulus had no interest in hurting others. He was a Healer, a scientist. He preferred his own company, or mine and Lily’s, or Severus when they weren’t competing for your mother’s attention. They were what I think you kids call ‘Frienemies’. Anyway, he was quite busy with Quidditch. He played Seeker,” Remus said.  
“Like Harry, and Draco,” Dora said, smiling.  
“And like Harry’s father,” Remus said.  
“Our fathers played Quidditch against each other,” Dora said, marveling at the coincidence.  
“James was the better player, by far. I don’t think Regulus’s heart was in it,” Remus confessed. “Dora, I think I know what is going on, here. You and Harry and his friends have some sort of investigation of all this, don’t you? Dora, this is too serious for schoolchildren. The Manticore exists to spread discord and chaos, to terrorize all who aren’t Pureblood. From what you’ve told me, they were involved in a hate crime against the Faeries, and from what Vesta Applethwaite believes Deverell Eastling is somehow complicit in the disappearance of her daughter. Will you let your professors and the authorities in Hogsmeade handle this one?” Remus said.  
“I…I already said I would go to the ball at Tarleton Hall,” Pandora said. “the closer I get, the more I can find out. After the ball, I’ll fall back.”  
“Dora! Do you know how long your uncle and I have waited for the chance to give you and Harry a home? You know the story of your cousin Belphoebe, now. If Sirius felt that he had failed you, it would kill him. His greatest regret is not being able to prevent her death, those of Harry’s parents, or your father’s,” Remus said.  
A look crossed Pandora’s face, as if a secret had crossed her mind. He could see her remembering, and deciding not to tell. Was it something she had heard about her father?  
“Doctor…I have to go,” Pandora said.  
“You will not go anywhere in that carriage out front! Vesta thinks they did something to her daughter, and the girl is missing! I shall open an Egress for you. Go back to school, Pandora,” Remus said.   
He had forgotten how easily mollified young people became when they were scolded. Looking mournful, Dora nodded her acquiescence, and Remus hoped that he hadn’t been too hard on her. He was just scared that he would lose her, when they had just found her.


	51. Chapter 51

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius pressures Draco to do his duty as a Pureblood, and lets him in on a secret; Dora faces backlash but shares a moment, and information, with Harry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are arriving at chapter 51, make sure not to miss chapters 49 and 50-I updated twice today, because I just couldn't resist writing more than I planned on doing. Thanks for reading, and enjoy!

Draco had been raised on lies. He realized now that lies had flowed into his waiting, vulnerable, rosebud infant mouth from his mother’s tender, firm teenage breast, from the spoons of the nannies and nurses who cared for him when his mother was being corseted into frothy Faerie silk confections and resuming her duties as a Malfoy wife, which were to be well dressed and seen as an ornament, from the medicine vials of Molly Weasley, who began caring for him when the old Ill-Wish in his blood manifested and began giving him fits of bleeding beneath the skin, terrible pain and fevers, from the wines, fruits, and grain grown in the fertile Faerie granted land of the Vale, and mostly from his father.  
Draco’s father wanted him to play Quidditch, ride gryphons and hippogriffs, be a dead shot at werewolf hunting, a duelist, a fencer, and most of all he wanted him to sit in the Guild and vote the same way he had voted. Draco tried. He tried to excel at everything life in the Vale put before him, but life itself made it bloody difficult. He was too thin, sickly, and tired to be the dashing figure his father wanted, he was not as rapturously and chivalrously in love with his cousin Pandora as his mother wanted, living some kind of girlhood yearning for her disgraced cousin, Sirius, out through their betrothal. He wished he could be more like his sister, Anthea, who was brave enough to argue with their father, and run away from him.  
One day, he wished he could be like Anthea so much that he began putting on her clothes. She had left all her belongings behind when she eloped with that bloodless Hufflepuff, Maurice Buttershaw. All her Faerie silk, satin, taffeta, and velvet gowns, in colors as brilliant as the wings of butterflies and parrots from faraway lands, all her cashmere and lace shawls, her satin slippers, her reticules, spencers, and pelisses, day dresses, tea dresses, ballgowns, all left as if waiting for her to return.  
Draco opened the wardrobe. The boy his father exhorted and bullied him to be was like a suit of clothes he would never fit. It was a lie, that he could ever change, ever be more robust and impressive.  
He liked to read Muggle poetry in hidden corners of the library, and literary tales of horror, and legends from world myth like Gilgamesh and The Ramayana. He treasured the moldering books he had found in the library his father never touched, gifts from another age when his family had been wizards who served kings and emperors. Reading them, imagining their fabulous scenes of Dr Frankenstein and Dr Jekyll in their laboratories, the vampires and sorcerers of Byron’s long epics, and ancient heroes like Rama and Arjuna, felt closer to the truth than fencing and dueling lessons.  
Opening Anthea’s closet to the lingering smell of rosewater felt like peering further into the truth, too. He caressed the fine fabrics, feeling welcomed and understood by velvet and cashmere. He dreamed of waltzing with boys, kissing them in topiary mazes beneath the full moon…but, he also wanted to beat Harry Potter at Quidditch. Who did that make him? Who was he?  
Draco learned to hide his dreams and wishes behind a mask. The only people he could lower that mask for were Ron Weasley, and Pandora.  
Draco stood at the window of the library, his favorite room, where he used to pour over forgotten books with Pandora during holidays. The satisfaction that she was safe was the only satisfaction he derived from being at Malfoy Manor, amongst Death Eaters, learning how to break into people’s minds. After years of thinking that he had no special talents, not like Potter’s infamous Parseltongue, it turned out that the mental energy Draco had put in to concealing his deepest desires had made his mind impervious to Mentalism.  
“Tickle, tickle!” his aunt, Bellatrix, cried, in their training sessions, when she tried to breach Draco’s mind.  
His aunt’s death had been a sham orchestrated by his great-aunt, Walburga Black, to bury the shame of her affair with Riddle, the murder of their bastard child, and her failed marriage to Walburga’s son, Sirius. Bella’s madness had begun in her daughter’s nursery, and the relic of her brief and ill fated time as a mother was her tendency to speak in a baby talk sing song at odds with her wasted and sinister appearance.  
She tried….but she could not “tickle” Draco’s secrets from his mind. He refused to give her the fizzy champagne joy of sneaking out to Londinium, finding the Molly House, wearing Anthea’s violet silk gown and gardenias in his hair, and kissing Ron Weasley, feeling overwhelmed by Ron’s solid body, big hands, and ardent lips.  
Bella was impressed by how he resisted torture. So was Pyrite, another one of Voldemort’s torturers, who preferred to wear white gloves and a white silk cravat to see the blood of his subjects splatter like paint.  
“You are an able Occlumens-you can keep your secrets in. Now, let’s see if you can learn to draw the secrets of others out,” Pyrite said.  
Such had been Draco’s tutelage of the last few weeks. He felt drained, as if he was becoming less and less solid, becoming a living ghost. He had tried flipping through some 18th century translations of Rumi and Hafiz, but his mind was too strained to derive light from their poetry.  
“Draco,” his father said, striding into the room as if he was still, truly, the master of Malfoy Manor. No one showed him any respect. The quartered Death Eaters ripped carved ornaments off the wainscoting and mantles, burst the canvasses of portraits, dueled over petty grievances and left burn marks from their hexes on the wallpaper and carpets, and were eating them out of house and home, fraying the nerves of Mrs. Applethwaite and her staff, as well as the resources of the home farms on the estate. The village surely seethed, already angry that Lucius’s drained finances had robbed them of wages. Voldemort ruled unseen from a master bedroom, ensconced with his closest advisors and servants, and a doctor. Draco could feel the Dark Wizard’s energy, like a storm cloud about to burst into a booming storm. But, he also felt suffering…the Dark Lord was ill.  
Draco hated his father for condemning them to serve Voldemort or flee from him. He steeled himself, his mask, to hear his father’s latest demand.  
“It is time that your cousin returned home,” Lucius said.  
‘No,’ Draco thought, panicked, but he hid it, the way he hid his desire to wake up with round, firm, perky breasts, and full hips, to feel beautiful in Ron Weasley’s arms.  
“Was it not your wish that Pandora, Mother, and Lucilla be safe in Hogsmeade while those swine overrun our home?” Draco said.  
“Those swine are our compatriot, in Our Lord’s crusade to rid our race of impurity,” Lucius said. His tone was sharp and reprimanding, but it was at odds with his drained and haggard appearance. He still wore his finely crafted blonde wig, made of unicorn’s mane, which gave the appearance that he still had long, lustrous, silver blonde hair. It was proof of Elfish heritage, which many Pureblood wizards thought entitled them to Faerie land, though they scorned the population of Faeries that lived aboveground in the present day.  
“Who gives a toss? I don’t care if colonies of ogres, giants, Rustic and trooping Faerie move onto the parkland, and if the next Archmagister is a Muggleblood. What does it really hurt us?” Draco said.  
Lucius looked both affronted and frightened, and quickly hissed, “Because, as you well know, such individuals haven’t the capacity to effectively govern themselves, nor do they have the right to govern us! The Purer a wizard’s blood, the stronger his magic, and magic is power.”  
“Whatever,” Draco huffed.  
“You have been spoilt. I allowed you far too much indulgence, because of your mother’s hysterics. Your health put her into a frightful state, so I gave you both your way. And your sister, that whore,” Lucius said.  
“Anthea is married to a man who has the sense to oppose Voldemort, not give him room and board! And she had the sense to leave this place behind. I should like to burn this house down!” Draco said.  
“You will do no such thing,” Lucius said. “What you will do, is write to your cousin, and say that you are gravely ill, and need her attendance. She can bring Snape if she so desires.”  
“No,” Draco said.  
“The Dark Lord desires your marriage, posthaste,” Lucius said.  
“Why should he care?” Draco said.  
“The new age requires brides of good pedigree, to be the mothers of strong sons for a brave new world. The Golden Age which we are now fighting for,” Lucius said. “Your cousin is the last of the House of Black, she could be no purer, nor could you. Our Lord wants his knights to join with their brides on the Liberalia.”  
Liberalia was one of the many Roman festivals kept by Purebloods who worshipped the old Roman gods. It was the festival of Ariadne and Bacchus, the god and goddess of wine, ecstasy, and fertility. The latter made it a rather crassly advantageous day for marriages, Draco supposed, especially if said marriages were for the express purpose of ‘breeding the sons of the new age’.  
“She is safe,” Draco said.  
“Safe? Being taught Light Magic warfare by that old madman, Dumbledore? Living with that anarchist and pervert, Sirius Black? She is courting shame with every step! She needs our stewardship,” Lucius said.  
“Your stewardship, Father? You lost our fortune and moved Voldemort into our house,” Draco said. He had more accusations to spew, but he was cut off by the thumping burn of his father’s backhand slap against his cheek. His lip collided with his teeth and cut his lip, and he felt the swelling in his lip and cheek begin. He tried to summon a good memory…the gentle and tentative way Ron had caressed his cheek and looked into his eyes, trying to hold back his passion for a moment to awe at Draco in silk. Those kisses at the Molly House, those memories rose in his heart often and had gotten him through a lot of tough moments.  
“You will write to her, and you will bring her here! You shame me! There are young men your age doing their part for the New World! Do. Your. Duty! To this house! To the Dark Lord! To me!” Lucius roared.  
In Draco’s mind, he and Ron were dancing…they were kissing…he was not at Malfoy Manor….  
Focus. You are a spy. Get information out of this, he told himself, shaking off both fear and fantasies.  
“What do you mean? I’m here! I’m doing my bit! I’m learning mental magic with that career sadist Pyrite, and that old bat Bellatrix, aren’t I?” Draco said, feigning outrage.  
“There are young men harvesting suitable brides for the Dark Lord’s purpose, from the Wizard villages,” Lucius said. “Come with me, Draco.”  
Lucius pulled a book from the shelf, and the shelf peeled from the wall. Draco followed his father into the cold, narrow, dark, stone passageway that led to the recess. The darkness smelled of earth and water. Draco walked in darkness. It occurred to him that his father was lying, and would murder him and leave him here, in the bowels of their own home. Pureblood patriarchs had in the past killed weaklings in their family, disappointing children too sick, disabled, or lacking mental vigor. Either way, whatever was going to happen, Draco had to control his emotions.  
They reached a cave-like chamber lit with torches in sconces. The amber light of the flames shone on the faces of several girls sitting on the floor. They ranged in age from 15 to their early or mid 20s, and their fearful eyes made them all identical. They were hugging their knees or hugging each other, sitting close, and they all shook. A collective tremble rippled through them when Lucius and Draco entered the chamber. Their faces looked starkly vulnerable, shining in the dark, like the hairless bodies of infant rats.  
“Who are these girls?” Lucius asked.  
“The brides,” Lucius answered.

When Dora returned from school, she raced up the stairs to the Gryffindor common room. She knew the password-‘Hootenanny’-and there was no riddle to solve to get in the door, like her Ravenclaw common room.  
“What do you want, Riddle lover? Fuck off!” said a boy sitting by the fire, rising from his chair.  
“Seamus, chill,” said his friend, a tall black boy, who put his arm gently but firmly against Seamus’s torso to bar his advance towards Pandora.  
She was alarmed that a boy would want to attack her, but Pandora had come too far to be deterred by anything or anyone. She had been frightened, every time her aunt talked about her marriage to Draco; she had been frightened, when Snape looked at her with desire; she had been frightened when she learned her uncle was welcoming Voldemort into her childhood home. But, something had just burst into smithereens, some place where fear began, and Dora wasn’t the same.  
“She’s a fuckin’ Death Eater, Dean!” Seamus said.  
“You looking for Harry?” Dean asked Pandora calmly. She nodded.  
He met her eyes, with his wide, starry eyes, as dark and lustrous as polished onyx, and said, with palpable and determined blessing, “Go on up, he’s in his room.”  
“Thank you,” she said, and went upstairs to the boys’ rooms.  
She peeped into each opened door, and found Harry spending his free study period sanding twigs from his Firebolt broom instead of pouring over a book. He looked up, saw her, and smiled. Light smoldered in his dark green, jewel like eyes. Had he always been so beautiful? The more time Pandora spent with Harry Potter, the more used to loving him she became, he became more beautiful in her eyes. She loved his emerald eyes, his infectious smile, his elfish nose, and sharp chin at the end of his thin face which made him look witty, thoughtful, and benevolent, and his long fingers. He had such beautiful hands.  
“Dora!” he said. “what are you doing here? Did anyone see you?”  
“Seamus Finnigan, who was none too happy, but Dean Thomas was quite kind,” she said.  
“Solid bloke, Dean,” Harry said. He set his broom aside, and Dora took its place on his lap. With a simple charm, she waved her wand and closed the door.  
“What did I miss?” she asked.  
“More madness from the Manticore. The Aesthetic Dance girls’ shoes were charmed, they danced till their feet bled, like in that faerie tale. Delilah Summerscale who lives up the lane from us was in that lot, she’s only a second year. The owls from the owlery were bewitched, and flew at the walls of the Greenhouse in a first year Herbology class, broke some glass. Just petty mayhem, but they’re sending the message that they can get away with it,” Harry said. “It’s bigger than Deverell and Vivian. You? Get anything out of the Bonnets and Deverell and Vivian?”  
Pandora recounted the story of the Applethwaite family, and felt Harry’s concern radiate from his body.  
“I want you out of there. Forget the Tarleton Hall ball,” he said.  
“Harry, this is the most promising lead we could have gotten, at the most convenient time we could have gotten it,” she said. “I have to have a gown made up for Tarleton Hall, it’s the perfect time to speak to Madam Arklow’s staff about Sarah Applethwaite.”  
“No, Dora. These creeps are hexing kids, running minorities out of town, and who knows what happened to this Sarah girl?” Harry said. “I don’t want you in carriages with them, in their homes.”  
“Harry…” she said.  
“I can’t lose you. Like I lost my mum, and my sister. You’re the other half of my red chord…I know your thoughts, your dreams, I can feel your heartbeats, and your breaths, if I stay still and listen. Dora, I can’t ….you can’t end up like my mum and Rosie,” Harry said.  
She hugged him, and kissed his black hair.  
“We have to say her name, remember her, and find her. Only the blind weaving of fate makes me any different from Sarah. Having magical ability and wealth has given me certain privileges. But, in many ways, we are both vulnerable. We are both subject to being silenced and moved about by men. Harry…I want to find her,” Pandora said.  
Harry sighed.  
“Okay. We won’t let up. But, stay in contact, and protect yourself,” Harry said. “asking around Madam Arklow’s should be fine. I’ll be waiting around the corner, at the bookshop where we met up the first time. Are you free this weekend? Hermione, Ron and I are looking around Wiltshire.”  
“Wiltshire?” Pandora asked.  
“Hermione told her parents we want to see the Ridgeway Trail and the Wiltshire Museum for a project about Merlin, so we’re going to make a day of it. We’re going to see if we can find anything on the ground that seems connected to Voldemort. There has to be some reason he met me on the Barrows, near the Chalk Horse and Stone Henge in that vision,” Harry said.  
“I think I can manage it. Although, after ditching the Squad, I’ll need to make my excuses,” Dora said.  
“Speaking of excuses…” Harry said, and for the benefit of anyone listening shouted, “I’m sick of your excuses, Pandora! Go back to Eastling and that Slytherin trash! Piss off!”  
Dora broke into fake sobs again, and rushed out of the room, and slammed the door. She spied Seamus Finnigan nodding slowly with a satisfied smile as she ran out of the Common Room. She was satisfied that she and Harry had maintained their cover.


	52. Chapter 52

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day in the life of Ginny: she gets in too deep with Roger...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: in this chapter, we watch as Ginny is pulled deeper into an abusive relationship with Roger. He suppresses her voice, isolates her from her friends, and manipulates her with sex, affection, and making her feel needed one minute and getting angry and blaming her the next. All of this is emotional abuse, and if you or someone you know is in such a dynamic, please seek help from professional resources, family, friends, teachers, clergy, or anyone else you trust. As far as Ginny is concerned, trust and believe: she will find her voice and take back her power as the story goes on:)

Ginny got her answer from Sirius by owl:  
“Great news, Ginny! Let’s talk more this weekend. Harry will be in Wiltshire helping Hermione with a History project, but feel free to stop by.”  
He hadn’t been joking! Ginny’s heart was doing Aesthetic Dances! The first person she wanted to tell was Roger. She headed over to the Hufflepuff table, where Roger was eating his breakfast sandwiched between his two best friends, Posy Larch and Davy Llewellyn.  
“Rog! Rog!” she said, bouncing up and down and holding Sirius’s letter. “Guess what? He meant it, Sirius really meant it and he wants to see me this weekend.”  
Posy looked at her with distaste that went through Ginny like an arrow. She stopped bouncing. Davy was completely disinterested, which hurt in a different way. She didn’t expect one club meeting to make them bosom friends, but they seemed angry at her, and she was confused.  
“Gin, can we talk?” Roger said.  
Ginny nodded. She wanted to find out why he, and his friends, seemed displeased with her. Roger was two years ahead of her, in seventh year, so she figured he was just more mature than her.  
Roger stood from the Hufflepuff dining table, and Ginny followed him out to the corridor. They stood under a portrait of John Dee, Elizabeth I’s personal wizard. The light from a stained glass window at the end of the corridor, a mandala made of glass in different shades of blue, danced on the flagstones of the stone floor.  
“Gin, I’ve been trying to get past it all week, but I just wish you had backed me up a bit more with Harry Potter,” Roger said.  
“What? You were out of line. Harry doesn’t want to be famous, he doesn’t want to talk about his parents, or Voldemort, and you shouldn’t have asked him!” Ginny said.  
Roger made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. “So, he gets to claim fragility and abandon the people who revere him? He has a responsibility, and what a journalist is supposed to do is chase down stories, demand answers, hold public figures accountable to the people…”  
“I know…but, would you want to talk about the worst things that have ever happened to you?” Ginny said. “With anybody?”  
“If it was you, maybe,” Roger said. “I want to tell you everything that’s important to me. I always wished I’d meet someone like that, someone like you…that’s why it did my head in, the way it did, thinking you weren’t on my side.”  
After Tom, Ginny had a split mind. She wanted to be spoken to this way, as badly as ever, but she didn’t quite trust it. Roger must have read the hesitation on her face, because he slowly stepped closer to her, looked down and gazed into her eyes, and caressed her forearms. Ginny welcomed his touch, so tender and gentle, so unequivocally intimate and loving. It was so different than his frostiness earlier, and felt so real.  
“Gin…” Roger said lovingly. “I’m sorry if I was…cross with you, back there.”  
“Roger, I understand now. You want truth, and justice,” Ginny said.  
He nodded, looking satisfied at her answer. It felt right, so Ginny stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. She had never kissed a boy, besides Tom, and tried to duplicate his slow, sensual, but deep kissing style. She wasn’t prepared for the way Roger walked her against the stone wall, and pressed his body against her’s.  
“Pardon me!” Hermione said sharply from behind Roger.  
Roger peeled away from Ginny.  
“Back to breakfast, both of you, or I’ll take points from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff,” Hermione said sternly.  
Roger chuckled ruefully. “See you later, Ginny,” he said, and kissed the top of her head. He walked away, leaving Hermione and Ginny in the corridor.  
“Hermione!! What was that?! Do you realize that was the first time Roger and I ever kissed?” Ginny said. “Why couldn’t you give us a minute?”  
“There’s something about him,” Hermione said.  
Ginny nodded avidly. “He cares about the world. So much, he sort of gets carried away.”  
Hermione snorted disbelievingly. “He has a grudge against the world, he doesn’t care about it. Come on, Ginny! You’re a bright girl.”  
“A grudge? Roger? He’s always standing up for good causes,” Ginny said.  
“He yells himself blue in the face about the latest dog whistle talking point,” Hermione said. “ooh, I can’t wait to debate him! Kashmira Singh, the Ravenclaw prefect, is organizing a debate club.”  
“Oh, so that’s it. You haven’t really got anything against him, he’s the competition,” Ginny said.  
“No, this isn’t Quidditch, Ginny. Maybe in sport, people hype themselves up with benign aggression, but this is different…” Hermione said, with a concerned frown between her brows.  
“Look, no one agrees about everything. Deep down, you and Roger want the same thing: equality for everyone,” Ginny said.  
“I just wish he’d lay off Harry,” Hermione said.  
“He just got carried away,” Ginny said. “that’s what we were talking about. Is Harry okay?”  
“Harry’s got more on his mind than Roger Shepherd,” Hermione said, but didn’t explain. “Ginny…trust your own judgment, all right? You don’t have to convince yourself to agree with Roger if you don’t, really.”  
Ginny wasn’t sure what to say, in return. She had been so sure that anyone would see in Roger what she had seen when they began speaking, that he was smart, well spoken, cared about important issues, wanted the world to be a better place, and had a way of getting people to think and pay attention. She knew he had been hard on Harry, but Harry could try harder…maybe an interview about his life would help clear up for the public how dangerous Voldemort truly was. She wished someone would speak up about how things were in the Vale. She wished she could shout from the rooftops about what her family had been through, but she barely had the words to explain the connections between her father’s few opportunities due to being a Squib, his low wages, and the insurmountable cost of a proper healthcare. Roger had those words, and the promise that he would guide and teach her made her feel, when she was in his presence, as if she had been wandering through a desert and he was an oasis in sight.

Breakfast ended, and Ginny began her day. Her first class was Potions. The Warlock Potions professor, Echo Gray, had left, replaced by an old man with the air of a long tenured university professor with a trail of honors, called Professor Flamel. He wore a dark coat and black robes, like Professor Snape, and was just as knowledgeable as him but without his trademark harangues of students who were falling behind. Snape had made the antidote for the basilisk’s venom, which saved Ginny’s life. She had vague memories of him and others, probably Dumbledore and Pomfrey, conferring at her bedside, and the weight of the Professor’s hand on her forehead to check her fever. She gathered from things she had overheard Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Pandora say that something inappropriate had occurred between Snape and Dora, when he was her private tutor. Girls in the Vale married young, often to older men…but she knew better than to ask details. Harry, Ron, and Hermione kept a lot of secrets, had conversations in dropped voices and met up in secluded corners of the Common Room and Library in which they unraveled the secrets afoot in hidden pockets of life at school. Whenever she came near, they looked at her as if they’d thought they were invisible, and were surprised to have been seen…and, as if it was clear that they wanted her to go away so they could resume their former privacy as soon as possible.  
That’s not how Ginny had thought things would be, after the basilisk. She had fallen more than a little in love with Harry, after that, and dreamed of a time when they could both talk about how they had felt in the lair of the monster. However, he never seemed to be around when people were asking her nosy questions about the incident, or skirting around her with palpable fear…he had saved her once, but would not do so again, it seemed. He had shown her no special kinship, would not confide his nightmares and plans to her the way he would to her brother and Hermione. How nice it would have been if they had become close, if he had become her protector and defender, best friend, if she could have held him close if he needed to cry, and she was the only one who could calm him when he needed to vent. Roger had told her he had been waiting for someone like her to confide in. He had seen what Harry had not, in her, all that she had to give.  
Flamel walked them through a Relaxation potion that Ginny had seen her mother make more times than she could count-the herbs for it grew in their garden, and Ginny often picked them for her mother. Walking through the garden in the morning, when the scent of the herbs was stoked by the dew laden air, birds were singing, and the trees swayed in a languid breeze, was one of her favorite things about being at home…but, when she had been home after being possessed by Tom, the silences and empty hours had oppressed her with her own canned energy, and the tasks that her mother set before her seemed riddled with minutiae that made them overly complicated. Ginny felt she could focus better at Hogwarts, and silently went to work preparing the simple Potion.  
Flamel came round to observe everyone’s cauldron, and taste-tested some that looked promising.  
“Calendula! Excellent!” Flamel said. “I can taste the efficacy, Ms. Weasley. Are you shadowing in the Hospital Wing, by any chance?”  
“No, sir,” she said, hiding her annoyance that everyone assumed a girl like her should want to be a village healer.  
“Well, do consider applying with your Coven to be registered as a First Degree healer. This is a very well prepared remedy, young lady,” Flamel said, and moved on.  
A Third Degree Master Healer was an Alchemist who had been educated at an order like the Order of Trismegistus, and Second Degrees had probably studied at the Healer program of a hospital’s university wing, like St. Mungo’s. However, anyone who had done Advanced Potions in their seventh and eighth years at Hogwarts, and an apprenticeship with another healer, need only register with the list of minor healers kept by their Coven and they could perform minor procedures, mostly administering herbs and birthing children. It was often a good career choice for women from the Vale, Hogsmeade, poor neighborhoods in Londinium, and small enclaves of Wizardkind hidden in Muggle villages and rural regions. Every time someone recommended this path to her, she felt like they were saying that they could see that she was common, and didn’t think she was going far.  
After classes, Ginny watched the Gryffindor team practice from the stands. Her legs tingled with caged energy, aching to be hugging a broom with her thighs again. Whoever won the Slytherin v. Hufflepuff match the upcoming Friday would be Gryffindor’s opponent the week after that. Ginny bet on Slytherin-Malfoy, who always had more effort than results, had been replaced by a third year who flew like a bullet. Facing a younger opponent, who’d be playing with intensity to make up for experience, Harry was coming up with ingenious plays and pushing the team hard. The Chaser who’d replaced her, Gianna Strike, was good. No one had asked her about coming back to the team, Ginny had noticed.  
“Thought I’d find you here,” Roger said, jogging up the stadium steps between bleachers.  
Ginny smiled, and waved him to sit beside her.  
“Sorry about Hermione, this morning,” she said.  
“Don’t worry about it. Her reputation precedes her,” Roger said sarcastically.  
“Oh, no, its not like that. I mean, she’s really not like what people say…she’s just protective, I guess, because I’m younger and…because bad things seem to happen to me, I guess,” Ginny said, trying to sound flippant about it, as if there was irony and humor in it.  
“Well, do you let them?” Roger asked.  
Ginny blinked. “What?” she said.  
“Sometimes, I think, we subconsciously kind of set ourselves up for the misfortunes we think we deserve, by creating them or allowing them to happen. Generations of Wizards have lived under this Guild system and its rules, the written and unwritten ones, and we’re just willing to go along with it. The system tells us who has the right to change things and push back, and who should just…take their lot, be content, shut up and go along. But, we have the power to change it, all of us, within ourselves, and if we realize it and use it, together, we can harness it collectively,” Roger said. His voice was nearly anguished, it was so passionate.  
“I understand,” Ginny said, nodding. “And, you’re right! I did let those things happen…I had a big crush on Harry, and these Slytherin girls left me a note, pretending it was from him, luring me out to the edge of the Forest. That’s how the basilisk got me. And…something else happened to me, just a few weeks ago. I haven’t told anyone. Can I tell you, Roger?”  
“You can tell me anything, Ginny,” Roger said kindly.  
She trusted him. She told him all about hearing Tom’s voice, thinking he was in love with her, and writing to him in the diary. She left out that Tom was Voldemort-she wasn’t daft. She also left out trying to kill Harry. She said that Tom was a ghost, and he made her do bad things.  
“The first step, Ginny, is to accept that this was your fault. You were blind, you were tricked, and you let that happen. But, instead of making you feel bad, that should make you feel strong. You know the truth now, and you won’t be fooled again. That makes you stronger,” Roger said.  
He told her about how he had ‘woken up’. His mother’s people were wealthy Hufflepuffs from a well-off Londinium neighborhood, a place of townhouses in fashionable squares and mansions in parks and gardens so secluded they had the privacy of the country. When his grandfather died, Roger’s parents pursued what they thought was Mrs. Shepherd’s just due of her father’s assets, but her sister also sued for her share. The lawsuit dragged out for years, most of Roger’s childhood, and he saw the toll that it took on his parents. Financially drained from legal fees, their patience with each other frayed from constant disappointment, the bitterness at her natal family causing Mr. Shepherd to resent Mrs. Shepherd, their marriage had been a theater of war, and Roger’s and his brother, Gordon’s, childhood a war torn land. Their resources much depleted, they had to decamp from their fashionable neighborhood to one on the city’s outskirts where, as Roger described, it, “people grow cabbages and milk cows.”  
Everyone Ginny knew from Whisper-In-the-Vale grew their own cabbages, and a family who had a cow to milk would be considered lucky, indeed, but Ginny understood what he was saying: his parents’ and his other relatives' greed had ruined his family. So set on living in style, they had lost sight of how to simply live.  
“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” she said.  
“They’re all so fucking entitled. What about people who can barely afford their Coven tithes, or have to scrape and bow to some privileged landlord, relying on their favor for employment?” Roger said. “you have to embrace that you can make different decisions than the people around you.”  
“Yes! If I hadn’t believed those girls, and Tom…” Ginny began, but Roger interrupted her and waved his hand to silence her.  
“That’s the past. You’ve woken up, now,” he said.  
“Do you want to have dinner at Sirius Black’s house, with me?” she asked. “tomorrow?”  
Roger smiled. “Dinner at a Guildsman’s? Do I have to dress for dinner, and bring a foxhunting coat for the next morning?” he said.  
Ginny snorted in laughter. “Sirius isn’t like that, trust me. He lived like a Muggle for years. He was in a punk rock band, and then he was a motorcycle mechanic. He had amnesia after being in Drakenberg, and he was homeless after, for a long time,” she said.  
“He’s got quite the life story,” Roger said. “Sure, I’ll come round. I have an event tomorrow, a protest to bring back the Faerie market.”  
“I don’t think it can just be brought back. The Faeries have to trust us,” Ginny said.  
“So, what, we shouldn’t try to be heard?” Roger said, rather sharply. His moods shifted suddenly, but Ginny was sure if she was apologetic and patient, he would soon be pleased with her, again.  
“No, of course you should always try to be heard,” she said.  
He relaxed. Practice broke up.  
“Great job today, everyone,” Harry said, sounding breathless. He jogged up the steps to Ginny’s and Roger’s bleacher.  
“Gin, how’d we look? Ready for Slytherin?” he asked.  
She was pleased that Harry had asked, and said, “You reckon it’ll be Slytherin?”  
“That new kid, Gavin Nightshade, they call him ‘Deadly Nightshade’. They did beat Ravenclaw earlier this year-the only way Ravenclaw advanced to our match week before last was points overall, but Nightshade got the Snitch in that one. It was bloody close,” Harry said.  
“Yeah, well, Gorse couldn’t catch the Snitch if it danced naked in front of him waving seven veils-you can do a bit better than that, Harry,” Ginny said.  
Harry laughed. Ginny looked over at Roger and realized that he wasn’t laughing. She was used to boys enjoying a saucy joke. Roger looked frosty, his jaw was hard.  
“Still, Nightshade’s no Malfoy, is my point,” Harry said.  
“Yeah, did you ever notice that look he used to get on his face when he was going for the Snitch? Like he had food poisoning,” Ginny crowed. Harry, always one to relish Malfoy’s pain, laughed more than Ginny felt the joke merited, but, then, he had been up close and personal to Malfoy’s failed attempts at victory.  
“What’s your team, Shep?” Harry asked amiably.  
“I don’t follow sport,” Roger said.  
“Yeah? Then I can’t imagine what you and Gin talk about,” Harry joked. Ginny understood what he meant, that she herself was Quidditch-mad, but Roger said brusquely,  
“Don’t worry about it.”  
The friendly look left Harry’s face. “Gin, you know you have a spot on the team whenever you feel up to it?”  
She sighed. “I couldn’t do that to Gianna. Let her have the rest of this school year. Its magical to be part of a team, I don’t want to take that from her,” she said, and watched Harry weigh her words  
“Condition with us this summer, and try out next year, all right?” Harry said.  
“What’d you decide about Montrose?” she asked.  
“Haven’t had time to think about it. Anyway, Sirius always told me you can’t say yes to everything. Gotta hit the showers-see you round, Gin!” Harry said, and jogged off.  
“Not as subtle as he thinks he is,” Roger said.  
“Can’t you lay off? His parents were killed. He’s still sorting it out. Maybe he will be for the rest of his life. I mean, that’s how I feel about my dad,” Ginny said.  
“Its different. Your family are the very people who suffer under our system. He has a responsibility, and he’s ignoring it, and in doing so letting this myth grow around himself. And, I guess it draws offers from professional Quidditch teams,” Roger said.  
Ginny sighed. She supposed that when two men didn’t like each other, it ran deep and was hard to clear up. She had seen the years of enmity between Harry and Malfoy, and it seemed he and Roger would never like each other, either. But, she wanted the soft, vulnerable boy who had told her about his family’s misfortunes back. She had figured out if she waited out his anger, the better side of him always returned.  
“Can you walk me back up to Gryffindor Tower?” she asked.  
“God, I’m a prat. I got so worked up about Potter…but, after what happened with that basilisk when you were a little girl, you must be afraid of the dark,” Roger said. The sun was setting, and the trees were silhouetted in shadow.  
Ginny wasn’t afraid of the dark, but if believing so made him nice again, she could play along. They walked down the bleachers, with Roger’s arm around her. Ginny nuzzled into his warmth, and he looked down at her protectively.

Ron, Hermione, Harry and Pandora left early the next morning, to take a train from the Hogsmeade to Londinium station, and from there to meet up with Hermione’s parents in Muggle London, and drive out to Wiltshire with them. She couldn’t imagine what they wanted a look at out there, but she didn’t ask, knowing they would just be evasive and keep their secrets to themselves. Ginny ate breakfast in the Great Hall, and Roger, flanked by Davy and Posy, came up to the Gryffindor table.  
Roger said, “Ready?” and Ginny nodded and grabbed her bookbag. They held out their wands, said, “Conveyance”, and a carriage pulled up to them. Roger, Davy, Posy, and their signs, reading, “Bring Back the Faeries”, got in. On the ride to the village, the three of them discussed current events, like the attacks in the Muggle world, the ineffectuality of the Archmagister, Cornelius Fudge, and, of course, the attack on the Faeries. Ginny’s parents always encouraged her and Ron to ask them questions about issues in the news, and they talked about things as a family. However, whenever Ginny tried to interject her opinion on any of the topics Roger and his friends brought up, Posy interrupted her. Ginny chalked it up to jealousy-obviously she felt more than friendship for Roger, and was miffed that a younger girl had gotten him right from under her nose.  
Ginny had imagined more people showing up to the protest, fancied that they were meeting up with the rest of the Political Science club, or adults from some kind of activist group. The protest ended up being just Ginny, Roger, Davy, and Posy holding signs and standing by the fountain in the town square, which depicted the nymph Coventina, shouting, “Bring Back the Faeries” with enthusiasm that waned after a couple of hours. Davy broke off from the protesting and brought them all frothy, syrupy sweet American coffee from the Seattle style coffeeshop at the edge of the square, and everyone paused to sit along the fountain and drink it.  
“Thanks, Davy,” Ginny said.  
He nodded. He didn’t seem to hate her as much as Posy did. He had brought her coffee, after all.  
“That’s it, then, you reckon?” Davy asked Roger. Ginny thought they had a point. People had been milling around, pointedly ignoring them, carrying their shopping bags and parcels.  
“They don’t care,” Posy said. “They think their cushy little lives are going to go on as they always have, as long as they live here in the shadow of the castle.”  
“Hogwarts is one of the safest places in the world, especially with Dumbledore as Headmaster,” Ginny said.  
Posy rolled her eyes.  
“Yeah, okay,” Roger told Davy, ignoring both girls. “Rome wasn’t built in a day, was it?”  
“Heading back up to school?” Davy asked Posy.  
Ginny was grateful to him for bringing it up-with Posy and Davy back at school, she and Roger could have an afternoon in Hogsmeade before heading up to Sirius’s and Remus’s cottage for dinner.  
Looking cross, Posy said into her wand, “Conveyance,” and a school carriage appeared at the end of an alley.  
Davy and Posy departed to board it. Roger and Ginny began to walk. She had imagined walking with Harry like this, on a walk all alone through Hogsmeade. She had daydreamed that he would tell her all his secrets, all about growing up an orphan, his secret pains and fears, but also what he wanted the world to be like. So much had been said of Harry before he even came to Hogwarts, what powers he must’ve had to survive when the other Phoenix Boys had not, where he had been hidden-some said the Faerie Realms, some said the Warlock dimension, some said he had gone to be the apprentice of a great immortal sorcerer like Cerridwen, her son Taliesin, or Merlin, one of those deathless wanderers who had left their name in legend but no trail to follow or find them, that he was being protected by nymphs like a fugitive demigod-and whose side he would fight on when he returned. She had always believed that he would fight for good, for Gryffindor Coven…but anyone who spent an hour in Harry’s presence knew that he was not a prodigiously strong nor a precociously talented wizard, a budding Dumbledore, as so many had predicted. He didn’t have a great vision to reform the world-he just wanted to play Quidditch, really, and survive whatever nasty shocks fate threw at him from one day to the next.  
“Thanks so much , for taking this seriously,” Roger said.  
“I want things to change, too,” Ginny said.  
He took her hand. The shock of another person’s skin against her’s spread up and down her whole body. Ginny felt completely happy, the way she did as a little girl when she was watching Founding Day fireworks, or on a summer day trip to Mermaid Bay, giddy as the cold waves broke over her feet.  
She and Roger walked through the shops, the way Hogwarts students did, taking in the confections of Honeydukes and the creatures of the Magical Menagerie. The absence of the Goblin Market felt like a missing tooth, a vacant place one couldn’t resist poking one’s tongue at, and Ginny’s thoughts kept going to that vacant lot. It bothered her the way, just like in her village no one cared about Squibs and tenants, no one cared about the Faeries in Hogsmeade.  
Roger became more and more affectionate as they walked, kissing her, rubbing the small of her back and her arms, and pecking her neck with kisses.  
“Let’s go to the Hog’s Head,” he suggested, speaking in her ear in a wet whisper.  
“What? Only crooks go there,” Ginny said. Everyone knew that.  
Roger laughed, as if she was a cute little thing who had said something adorably gauche.  
“My brother stays there whenever he’s in town, meeting up with old friends,” Roger said, as if this was a gold standard.  
She wasn’t sure what Roger wanted to go there for, but they had time to kill between the afternoon and dinner at Sirius’s and Remus’s. A thread pulled in Ginny’s stomach, and it felt like a warning. She pushed it aside. What was she supposed to do? He trusted her, he liked her, he had confided in her about his family and his beliefs, and he had not seemed to care very much when Posy Larch went back up to school…and, he listened when she talked, and had helped her understand what happened with Tom and, to some extent, with Harry. Didn’t she owe him a bit of trust?  
Ginny didn’t know the way to the Hog’s Head, but she walked with Roger as she had through the rest of the village. When she reached the tavern, she realized it was really just a place. There were no highwaymen with eyepatches dueling each other, or anything, or a rabble-rouser being tossed out of the doors into the street like in an old American Western film. The building was made of dark wood, and its sign bore an old engraving of a boar’s head. When she and Roger entered, the barkeep, a man with an impressively long and thick silver beard, truly to rival Dumbledore’s, looked up.  
“He isn’t here,” he said.  
“No, I’m not looking for Gordie,” Tom said.  
“Good. No way to grow old, chasing your brother hither and yon, trust me,” said the barkeep.  
“I’ll remember that," Roger said. “is it all right if I use his usual room?”  
“He’s already paid for the month,” said the barkeep.  
The barkeep cast his eyes at Ginny, as if trying to figure her out. Now that she was inside, it felt surreal. The pub was chilly, and the furniture somehow had the look that it had been wet and then dried. The only other patron was an old wizard with the hood of his cloak up, drinking soup from a bowl. The barkeep gave Roger the keys, but Ginny was sure she didn’t imagine the rueful look he gave her as she and Roger headed up the dark staircase.  
Roger unlocked the door to the room, and as soon as they were inside he closed it and kissed Ginny. His hands were in her cinnamon red hair, tousling and slightly tugging it, and he moaned as his tongue slipped into, and writhed in her mouth. Ginny couldn’t breathe. She pushed at his shoulder, and broke away, as she said,  
“Stop!”  
Roger pulled away, looking flushed and dazed. “What’s wrong?”  
“Shouldn’t we talk about things, first?” Ginny said.  
“What things?” Roger asked.  
“You just said, ‘Wanna go to the Hog’s Head?’ I didn’t know that was code for ‘Fancy a shag?’” Ginny said, outraged.  
“Well, given that you said yes and walked up here with me, I sort of thought you fancied a shag,” Roger said.  
Ginny narrowed her eyes in a glare. “Is that all you wanted out of me?” she said.  
“Look, you’re so…openminded, and you’ve been so sweet…we kissed before, and ,well, you weren’t exactly shy. I thought you wanted to pick up where we left off before Granger butted in,” Roger said.  
“The Hog’s Head is not where we left off!” Ginny said.  
“Well, you seemed into me, and you didn’t seem like the uptight sort, so I just figured you wouldn’t mind….doing this, without all of the histrionics, disingenuousness, and expectations. All that stuff, it just ties men and women both down, doesn’t it? I mean, I thought you were the kind of girl who does whatever she wants,” Roger said.  
“I’m not the kind of girl who does this. The Hog’s Head on a Saturday afternoon. I’m the kind of girl who’s your bloody girlfriend,” Ginny said.  
“Girlfriend?” Roger laughed. “Look, I don’t do outmoded constructs of romantic sexual slavery that only perpetuate the patriarchy.”  
Ginny rolled her eyes.  
“But, I do respect you,” Roger said. “So…can I be your boyfriend?”  
“Don’t ever pull any shite like this again. Ever!” Ginny said.  
Roger laughed, as if her anger was cute.  
“Yes, you can be my boyfriend,” Ginny said.  
Sirius hadn’t give an exact time to stop by, so Ginny figured it was open. They caught a Conveyance carriage, and headed to the countryside. The meadows waving beside the lane, and the pink wild roses growing on crawling vines in the hedges were as different from the chilly, dark Hog’s Head as night was to day. Ginny lay against Roger’s chest, and her mood was soothed by the sweet, fresh air blowing through the windows. When Roger bent down to kiss her, she welcomed him. His lips were so gentle against her’s. She appreciated with all her heart the times he tried to change for her, to be kinder, more gentle.  
The carriage pulled up at the two story brick cottage, shaded by slender oaks. Outside the cottage was Dr. Lupin’s wheel garden of medicinal and kitchen herbs, rose bushes, a butterfly and bee garden of wildflowers, and around the back Ginny knew there was also a Zen garden with a reflecting pool, plum and cherry trees. Roger walked ahead of her, and knocked on the door.  
Anthea Malfoy answered. Or, rather, Anthea Buttershaw. Her long, honey blonde hair was loose and fell in waves to her waist, and she was wearing Muggle clothing, a djellaba and jeans. She was obviously pregnant, and had the archetypal glow about her skin. She looked past Roger, and smiled brightly at the sight of Ginny.  
“Little Ginevra Weasley!!! How you’ve grown! How beautiful you are!” She sashayed over to Ginny and gave her a hug.  
“Anthea! I haven’t seen you since you ran away from home! Oh, sorry, I meant, since you got married,” Ginny said, hugging Anthea. She had a knack of being slender but soft round the edges: soft arms around Ginny, soft bosom pressing into her, and a soft smell of white roses. The only hardness about her was her round belly.  
“Oh, I did a bit of both, didn’t I? We shan’t split hairs,” Anthea said.  
Ginny laughed. Anthea was witty, energetic, and a generous conversationalist who gave her full attention but also graced her companion with well timed bon mots. Malfoy Manor had begun to feel empty and sad after she ran away, but of course the village delighted in the scandal for a long time. The women generally cheered her on, eloping under the nose of her generally despised father, to a young man who’d just taken his Guild Seat and generally supported reforms to the rights of the lesser citizens of Wizardom, such as Squibs like Ginny’s father. Maurice Buttershaw was born to privilege, but had a knack for being liked by the common people that alludes some politicians all their lives, and seems to mark those who possess it for success.  
“Anthea, this is my boyfriend, Roger,” Ginny said.  
“Hello, how do you do?” Anthea said, and turned her attention back to Ginny again. “Are you looking for Harry? He’s on a trip for some history project, with your brother. Did they mention it to you? Do you think they’re lovers?”  
“Anthea!” Ginny shrieked.  
“Well, what sixteen year old boys do you know who care enough about history to travel to Heritage Projects? Sounds to me like they want some time alone-I do hope so: Ronald deserves nice things,” Anthea said merrily, and winked, letting Ginny know that she knew about their brothers’ intermittent secret relationship.  
Ginny loved Anthea’s joie de vivre, even if she thought it wasn’t prudent even to allude to Ron’s and Draco’s secret. She followed Anthea into the house, as did Roger. The sitting room was an mixture of Muggle and magical-a floor lamp, television, and DVD player which utilized electricity, but a Wizard wireless radio, and magical objects like a cabinet of crystal skulls, a Victorian device called a Euphonia which recorded human voices and played them back, which Dr. Lupin had bought at auction and was haunted, and other magical artifacts which were probably spill over from the antiques shop Sirius and Remus owned, Between Scylla and Charybdis.  
“Ginny, dear, glad you stopped by,” Sirius said. He was sitting on the couch, Anthea’s husband Maurice Buttershaw was sitting on the loveseat. Remus and Anthea both sat beside their spouses, and Sirius waved at a cushy recliner and a wingbacked chair for Ginny and Roger to take seats, as well.  
“Thanks, Sirius,” Ginny said.  
“Ah, so this is Miss Weasley. Sirius said you’re going to be clerking for him. He raves about you,” Maurice said.  
“Oh, no you don’t! My cousin may be the head of our family, but he doesn’t get the credit here! I practically raised Miss Weasley! She was my darling little baby, I’m sure he heard about her from me,” Anthea said. Sirius chuckled heartily, and took a savoring and relaxed sip of his brandy.  
Ginny laughed. “Anthea loved to play house, and she always made me the baby. She fed me so many madeleines, and macaroons, and said they were vitamins,” she said.  
“Remember how we used to dress up in my Mamma’s things? Oh, I don’t think she ever forgave me for breaking that bottle of icerose perfume from the Winter Faerielands,” Anthea said.  
“I broke it, and you told Madam Malfoy you did it,” Ginny remembered.  
“Ah, you had a maternal instinct even then, darling, protecting the young and vulnerable like that,” Maurice said affectionately.  
“I’m not sure I want my darling girl on the Guild floor, cousin-all of that shouting, and men whalloping each other with walking sticks, and such. No place for a young witch!” Anthea said.  
Sirius laughed heartily, throwing his head back. “Its not usually that exciting. And if walking sticks and punches do start flying, well, can’t be too different than a heated Quidditch match, eh, Gin?” he said.  
“If I can dodge a Bludger…” Ginny said with a shrug.  
Anthea, Maurice, Remus, and Sirius laughed. Just like when she was talking to Harry about Quidditch, Ginny noticed that Roger didn’t laugh, and looked sullen.  
Maurice noticed Roger, and said, “Will you be clerking as well?”  
“I have no intention of ever participating in the Guild. First of all, its an exclusionist institution that doesn’t allow nonhumans. Second of all, it was built on stolen land. Londinium is built on the Faerie lands stolen by Druids who betrayed the people who gave them magical powers in the first place. The Guild Hall was built by Giants, enslaved by wizards. Their community should be paid reparations, and the Hall should be rebuilt with fair labor,” Roger said, in the same tone he would have given a speech in Political Science club.  
“Oh, well, aren’t you a pepper!” Anthea said. Her husband flashed her a bemused grin, but patted her hand playfully asking for restraint.  
“I didn’t catch your name,” Sirius said mildly. Ginny could tell he was sizing Roger up, the way he had Geoff Winnington.  
“Roger Shepherd,” Roger said.  
“He’s my boyfriend,” Ginny said.  
“Oh, how time flies! Remember that little game you used to play, Ginny? It was before anyone knew what became of Harry, and there were all sorts of wild theories…well, Ginny was always pretending that she had rescued him from something or other that had been holding him hostage all those years he was missing. Pirates, Titans, ogres, and such-and she would rescue him!” Anthea said.  
Ginny blushed. She had forgotten just how long she had fancied Harry: before they even met, and then when they did it was he who had rescued her.  
“Well, I’m certainly not unaware of those truths, nor do I think they represent an ideal history,” Sirius said, addressing Roger’s diatribe. “History is never ideal. Sometimes all the good it can do us is teach us to do better.”  
“Hear, hear,” Maurice said. “But, I will add that refusing to participate is certainly the slowest and least effective way to make change.”  
“Change begins on the ground, listening to the people and talking to them, helping them wake up, not perpetuating vainglorious, self serving rivalries amongst the privileged classes. Look at the Goblin Market. We were out there, on the ground today, protesting that its gone. Are they talking about that in the Hall? No. People like you can always get imported delicacies from the Faerie country. But what about the poorest villager in Hogsmeade, who relied on it for fresh vegetables and fruit? This is a public health issue!” Roger said.  
Anthea’s face was serene, and she rubbed her swelling stomach. Sirius sipped brandy. Maurice looked intently at Roger.  
“I see your point. I do. Unfortunately, the Faerie were run away by hostile actors, and it is up to them if they return. Time runs differently for them, and their ideas of innocence and guilt among mortals is different, too. Time will tell if they ever return,” Maurice said.  
“See? That’s what I said, before,” Ginny said.  
Roger turned pale with anger. His whole body looked stiff, like a myth of a boy who was turned to driftwood or a crystal by a god who had once loved him. His jaw was rigid, and his eyes were cold. Ginny felt shaken. It was like he had turned into someone else.  
“Well, Ginny, what do you make of Fudge’s chances for re-election, dear?” Sirius asked.  
“I think he should address the deportation of Warlocks and Rustic Faerie to their realms, and those werewolf detainment centers. Its false imprisonment,” Roger said, but Sirius held up a halting hand and said,  
“I asked Ginny a question. Don’t your tires ever go flat?”  
Roger’s face went from the indignant set he adopted to talk about his outrage over big issues, to shock that Sirius had addressed him with dismissive sarcasm, then he shot Ginny a dark glare and stormed out of the sitting room, out of the house. Ginny felt panicked. Things had gone so wrong. She wanted to explain to Sirius that Roger had admired him, was looking forward to meeting him, and that Roger was smart and knowledgeable and cared about the world more than anyone Ginny had ever known…but, she didn’t know what to say.  
“Sirius…why did you do that?” she managed to strickenly whisper.  
“Because, he never would have let you get a word in,” Sirius said. “He doesn’t seem to like it when you speak. Or when Anthea does. I’m seeing a pattern here.”  
“Well, he is rather nervy, isn’t he?” Anthea said.  
“He’s nervous. And, he knows a lot of things, and wants to fix the world…to make it better for people like my dad…I mean, nothing he said about giants and warlocks and Faeries was wrong, was it?” Ginny said.  
“Maybe not, but he’s so angry, dear,” Sirius said, with a note of sympathy for her that she didn’t understand.  
“Because he cares! He wants change!” Ginny said.  
“Anger isn’t what you need to change things. Hope is what it takes. And you don’t confront your enemies or your allies-you listen to them, and explain yourself to them,” Sirius said. “Your Roger is young and angry. His anger has him by the front of the shirt and its pulling him this way and that. He’s not angry about those causes, he’s attaching his anger to them to release some tension. And, I think he likes stirring others up to do the same.”  
Ginny wanted to interject, but, again, she didn’t know what to say. She just knew that none of them understood Roger, but he needed her. He’d said that he needed her, had been waiting for her, and respected her, and no one else had ever cared that much.  
“Sirius, I don’t think I can stay,” she said.  
His eyes were sad, and he held her gaze with perfect understanding. He nodded, and said, “You get as much as you can out of your classes, Gin. The Guild’s not going anywhere. Nor am I. Stop by here, or the Pendragon, whenever you need to talk to me or Remus, all right?”  
Ginny was grateful that he understood.  
Ginny left the sitting room, walked out of the cottage, and jogged down the lane to join Roger. She had seen his best, and would help him bring it out more than the other sides she had seen, the anger, sullenness, and need to undermine her when she got more attention. He needed to express himself and be heard, and he had told her expressly that he trusted her to listen to him and believe in him. He wanted her at the protest, and he had let up at the Hog’s Head when other boys might not have. He had asked to be her boyfriend. It wasn’t a red chord like Pandora’s, or a runaway marriage like Anthea’s, but it was her love story.  
“Roger,” she said. “I’m sorry about Sirius.”  
“Its not your fault he’s a hypocrite,” he said. He looked sad, rather than angry, soft and subdued. He ran his hand beneath the curtain of her auburn hair and smoothed it behind her ears as an excuse to stroke the flame colored silk, as if for comfort.  
She wanted to give him something to make up for the volatile emotions that raged within him. He cared so much.  
“Do you want to go to the Hog’s Head?” she asked.


	53. Chapter 53

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Dora visit Hermione's parents in Notting Hill and depart for Wiltshire and Oxfordshire; Draco's tutelage with Pyrite takes a surprising turn

“Do you two want your own compartment?” Hermione asked delicately.  
“Its not that long a trip, is it?” Ron said. Hermione gave him a pointed look, and he realized she was trying to give Harry and Dora privacy.  
“Great idea, Hermione,” Harry said.  
They paid for their tickets, and waited a bit in the station, which was small and cozy, almost like a tavern. In fact, they did sell some hot food and fortifying teas and coffees. Harry paid for chocolate croissants and Earl Gray tea in a paper cup, with milk and sugar, for everyone, and soon their train was called. They headed out to the platform, and the chug of the train and keen of its boarding whistle greeted them.  
“I haven’t been on one of these trains since Aunt, Lucy, and I came to shop for our Founding Day gowns, and visit Draco. I thought it would all be…routine. But everything changed. I met you, Harry,” she said.  
Harry smiled, and took her hands. There were times when he was too moved for his meager share of words to express emotion to quite cover it. If only he had Hermione’s vocabulary, Ginny’s breezy humor, Sirius’s wit, Remus’s knack for comfort, and Dora’s easy eloquence. But, that wasn’t how people had talked at the Dursley’s orphanage. The orphans bonded by bragging about their pickpocketing haul, complaining about the sparse food, daydreaming over what their parents had been like, or the kind of family they would like to adopt them, or what they would do when they grew up: athletes, singers, movie stars, doctors and nurses, cops, the only professions they saw because they were represented by celebrities and performers on television.  
The train had the luxurious upholstery and shiny brass ceiling of a Victorian vessel. Harry and Dora parted from Ron and Hermione, and found a compartment. They settled into a cranberry velvet seat, and Harry wasted no time in gathering Dora into his arms. She wore a soft Ravenclaw jumper in navy blue, dark blue jeans, and her hair was loose and wild around her shoulders. She responded with ardor, and kissed him, her arms around his neck, sitting on his lap.  
“Love?” she asked, between kisses.  
“Yeah?” he asked.  
“Don’t think that I’m questioning your judgement, but what is it you expect to find on the Ridgway? I mean, if the Dark Lord lured you there in a dream, what could be waiting there but a trap?” Pandora asked.  
“That’s a good question. I understand. But, I think I might find some kind of clue…” Harry said.  
“A clue as to what?” she asked.  
“What kind of connection me and Voldemort have, and what it has to do with dragons. What do they mean to him? And why does he want me to join him?” Harry asked.  
“Well, we shall see what secrets the land and stones have to divulge. And if they keep their own confidence, at least we will have seen Stone Henge! How much ground do you want to cover?” she asked.  
“Um, Stone Henge, Avebury Hill, Dragon Hill, and White Horse Hill. We’ll be in Wiltshire, as well as Oxfordshire,” Harry said.  
“How shall we accomplish that? We’re too young to open Egresses…according to the dashed law,” Pandora grumbled. One had to be 17 to travel by Egress.  
Harry looked bemused. “Your family on both sides are in the Guild-have someone change the bloody law, then,” he teased.  
Dora laughed. Her bottom was a warm weight across Harry’s lap, and her hair caressed his face, and wafted the lavender smell of her hair to him. Harry hugged Dora around her waist. Outside the window, the invisible train had taken to the air, and the clouds grazed their window in tendrils of mist.  
“The legislation would never pass, I’m afraid. The Adolescent Egress Issue would become a quagmire,” Pandora said.  
Harry loved and admired Dora’s quick wit. How he loved her. Saying it felt easier at some times than others, but his feelings never wavered. Through their red chord, Harry felt Dora saying, ‘ I know how you feel’ in a pulse that surpassed words.  
“Do you think you’ll be able to feel the connection, when we arrive at the ancient sites of the Muggle world?” Pandora said.  
“I have this feeling that I will,” Harry said. “I’m sorry. I know its not a lot to go on.”  
“Some of these places might carry an echo of the magic that created them, Faerie magic, Druid magic. We cannot access such power, now. People like my Uncle Lucius think that creating the next Taliesin or Merlin is a matter of proper breeding. But, wizards are not horses. We are more mystery than man, perhaps,” Dora said.  
“Sirius said my dad was interested in where magic came from, what magic was made of,” Harry said. “I guess I never thought about it. What do you think, Dora?”  
Dora lightly bit her lip, and looked thoughtful. Harry found it a very attractive look, and felt a warm rush of appreciation.  
“I think that magic is rather like…radiation, of a sort. Maybe I’m wrong-my knowledge of Muggle science is a little patchy. But, my understanding is that radiation leaves traces in those who have been exposed to it. These traces cause mutations,” Dora said.  
Harry nodded, but he didn’t know very much about the matter, either. There hadn’t been much in the way of education at the Dursleys’, except in how to steal. Harry couldn’t remember any proper lessons, but of course he knew how to read. It was a mystery, but not the kind that drew him further in its heart, just something to let go.  
Prompted by Harry’s nod, Dora continued, “I think that when the Faeries lived freely in Britain and other places, living alongside them left traces in humans. And magic came to us, through sharing their energy. But, over time, people began to build nations, and seek to expand their territory. In my uncle’s library were the tales of King Arcturus Aurelianus and his knights. They are all the same, really-the Knights leave Camelot, travel for a bit, come upon a mysterious castle, the Faerie lady who lives there, and needs him to kill this ogre or that giant, or rival lord of her husband’s; the Knight does so and establishes a pact between the Lady, her Lord, and the King of Camelot.”  
“What do you make of all that?” Harry asked. He found Wizarding history was quite fascinating, just not in the translucent hands of Professor Binns.  
“Well, I think for a time it was mutually beneficial to the human and Faerie realms,” Dora continued. “The Faeries are fractious, their lands are divided into various kingdoms, which often break out into warfare. Having human knights who can slay nonhuman creatures as a cudgel to wave against one’s enemies must have been rather like….the threat of nuclear war, amongst Muggle nations.”  
“Yeah, but then the Faerie lands fell to the humans,” Harry pointed out.  
“Yes. Lyonesse, Avalon, Broceliande, Arcady, Atlantis,” Pandora listed. “after a while, the stronger power gets tired of playing at mutual diplomacy with the smaller or weaker, and decide to conquer and rule on their own terms.”  
“How did humans become the stronger power, against the Faeries?” Harry asked.  
“Merlin. I hate to sound like Shepherd, but he was the decisive factor. He was not like any wizard seen before. He created the monuments we shall see today. We are traveling towards the monuments of Merlin,” Dora said.  
Harry remembered what Hermione said about Merlin being a Half-blood, as Harry was, but no half Muggle or Muggleborn, rather the child of an Incubus and a nun. He wondered if Merlin’s mother had been like him, ambushed by a demon in disguise, like the Succubi in the shower. He shuddered at the thought of them, and held Dora close.

Pyrite had a way of looking Draco up and down with undisguised thirst. It wasn’t the once-overs Mollies gave each other in establishments like the one Draco’s cousin Sirius owned, where he and Ron had reconnected. It was lust, but not of a sexual nature. Pyrite wanted to teach and shape Draco, to be his Master in the art of pain. He felt his covetous eyes on him in the dining room at Malfoy Manor, and there was a trench of focused silence between them while the men around them cheered for Eglantine Stanley.  
Eglantine was Draco’s father’s mistress. She had a sylph’s body, thick dark auburn hair, and eyes the color of whiskey that played with the light. She was the resident entertainment at Malfoy Manor, and the segment of Death Eaters who were culled from Londinium’s underworld enjoyed her nude interpretations of ancient priestesses’ dances. Her nickname on the Londinium cabaret circuit was ‘The Maenad’. Draco hated her props, her veils and fans, hated her fake stage smile, hated the fact that jealousy over this woman had driven his mother to opium and despair. He looked away as, while shaking her ample, bottom, the creamy flesh of the globes of her buttocks touched just so with a rosy blush, she tossed a triumphant smile over her shoulder. Eglantine thought she had won, and was the mistress of whatever was left of Malfoy Manor.  
Draco had written Sirius Black about the Brides, and his cousin would relay the intel to Dumbledore…but Draco knew he couldn’t be seen helping them in the meantime. He had to play his part, and that meant learning Mentalism: Occlumency, closing his mind, Legilimency, burgling others’ minds, Psychometry, reading impressions left by objects. Pyrite caught his eye, and nodded. He wanted Draco to follow him, and Draco had no choice but to do so. Draco rose from his chair in the dining room, and followed Pyrite into the corridor.  
Pyrite was a tall, slender gentleman who dressed in the style of Londinium wizards, less Regency and more Victorian. His white silk cravat and gloves gleamed like moonstones against his dark suit, and his hair was a pale blonde not unlike the Malfoys-elf blood, probably, Draco figured. If anyone saw them side by side, they would think Pyrite was Draco’s father, but he could not be more different than Lucius. Lucius had taken a prominent role in Wizardom in the years Voldemort had been gone, Pyrite had skillfully hidden; Pyrite was a measured, deliberate man with a strong, silent presence, Lucius could not keep order in his own house; despite his frigidity, Lucius indulged gladly in drink, gambling, and the flesh, outside of Draco’s mother’s purview, whereas Pyrite’s only pleasure seemed to lie in causing other’s pain. Plus, he was high in the Dark Lord’s favor. He went into the master bedroom where the Dark Lord was housed, and spoke directly to him; Draco had seen a sliver of that forbidden room as the door opened and shut, and glimpsed his aunt Bellatrix, the Seeresses Ostara Munin and Freya Hugin, and Pyrite, but Riddle was out of sight in a far corner of the room. Lucius was never allowed in-his orders were conveyed to him through others.  
“You have surpassed even the hopes I began to entertain upon meeting you and feeling that well of strong, dark magic in you. I deem you ready, my Apprentice,” Pyrite said.  
“Ready for what, Master?” Draco said dutifully. He thought of the vulnerable faces of the Brides. He hoped he would not be told to hurt them.  
“To question a prisoner,” he said, and they entered a sitting room Draco’s mother had liked because of its dark colors, the furniture’s upholstery and curtains a rich, dark emerald velvet.  
“What must I do?” Pyrite said.  
“Penetrate her mind, and tear it open. Cut her as surgeons do the flesh to get to the secrets of the blood. Think nothing but, ‘Where is Perrier Flamel?’, and her mind will bleed its secrets,” Pyrite said.  
“Her?” Draco asked.  
With those gleaming white gloves, Pyrite gestured to a chair where a woman was held with ropes. She had a formidable beauty, the way one would imagine proud Queen Cassiopeia as she boasted that she was the most beautiful woman in the world, more beautiful than the Olympian goddesses. She had a Mediterranean olive tint to her skin, although all Draco could see of it was her neck, face, and hands. Like Snape, she wore the black frock coat and dark robes of a 3rd degree alchemist. On him, it had always seemed parodically lugubrious, but on the bound woman it only gave her beauty an air of authority. Her hair fell in long dark brown waves past her waist, her eyes were a piercing ocean green, and her age was impossible to tell.  
“Do you relent, Alchemist?” Pyrite said. “Where is Perrier Flamel?”  
The Alchemist looked haughtily at Pyrite and Draco.  
“The Emerald Order does not collaborate with regimes that are injurious to the future of life on Earth. The Order has decreed Tom Riddle and his cause contrary to the aim of the Order’s existence, to preserve and protect life,” said the Alchemist.  
“We care nothing for your decrees. You have no power here,” Pyrite said.  
He made a gesture with his gloved hand as if conducting a symphony, and cuts as if made by a knife opened on her forehead and cheeks, and poured blood down her beautiful face. Draco wanted to run, to scream. The Alchemist looked as patient and serene as a statue of a saint that bled at festivals every year, for crowds of enrapt and penitent devotees.  
“Draco,” Pyrite said, meaning it was his turn.  
“Where is Flamel?” he asked, and tried to send out his energy. It came back to him in a wave that Draco felt strike him and echo roughly at the top of his head.  
“Enough,” said the Alchemist. “I am Hypatia Orellana, a Presbyter of the Order of Thrice Great Hermes. You send this dying boy to break my silence?”  
She broke the ropes that held her, and stood. She clapped her hands, and the room shook as if an earthquake had begun. Draco steadied himself, and when he looked up, he saw that Hypatia Orellana had grown black wings. She looked at the window of the sitting room, and the glass shattered. She had been saving her strength and playing with them, all along, Draco realized, as he watched her fly away, away from Malfoy Manor, taking her secrets with her.  
Pyrite cursed, and toppled a vase in anger.  
“The Dark Lord will be furious,” Draco said. “I have failed!”  
“No, no my boy, the failure was mine. I was not brutal enough with her. Don’t despair-I’ll keep you out of this. The Dark Lord still has much use for you. If you can lure your cousin to the Manor, that fool Snape and her father, Black, are sure to hear of it, and pursue,” Pyrite said.  
“Regulus Black is dead,” Draco said.  
“Regulus Black is Undead, actually. He is a vampire. He stole a powerful alchemical compound from the Emerald Order, and Snape and Flamel helped him. The Dark Lord wants that compound, and He will have it,” Pyrite said. “Orellana doesn’t matter: after all, birds must land.”  
Draco’s legs ached, and his head was swimming. He sank into a chair. 

The train pulled into the Londinium station, which was massively bigger than the Hogsmeade one. The murmuring traffic of people coming and going never seemed to cease within, and the exterior was modeled off the white marble temples of Ancient Greek and Rome. Once they arrived, they took one of the permanent Egresses that led to Muggle London, and emerged amongst the vintage clothing stalls of Portobello Road Market.  
“Ooh, I wish we could stay! There’s nothing like vintage shopping at the stalls here,” Hermione said.  
Dora looked around, her face a mixture of curious, overwhelmed, and enchanted. “It’s rather like the Goblin Market!” she said.  
“But, more sartorial,” Hermione said. “I live just up there, come on, everyone! I thought it only fair that we tell Mummy and Daddy where we’re going, if I leave school for the weekend, and they’re letting us have the car!”  
“Can you drive it?” Ron asked.  
Hermione took it for him doubting her ability, and said crossly, “Yes, of course! What about you?”  
“Yeah. My dad’s got a cousin who’s a Squib, so he decided to take his chances in the Muggle world. He’s got a farm in Cornwall, and I help out there in summer sometimes. He pays me for it, too. Anyway, I’ve driven a tractor, and a Farm Use truck round his property. We can switch off, if you get tired,” Ron said.  
“Ronald! Thank you! I had no idea you meant anything good,” Hermione said.  
Ron laughed, and said, “Oh, you don’t expect anything good out of me?”  
“Well, I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you, but you can be quite rude!” Hermione teased.  
Ron shrugged. “You’re my best friend-I don’t have to be nice to you all the time. It’s a great arrangement,” he said.  
Hermione gave him a grumpy look, then broke out into a warm smile and laughed. “That makes no sense!” she laughed, then jogged up the steps of a townhouse with a green door. She unlocked it, and waved Harry, Ron, and Dora in.  
“Mummy!” she shouted.  
It was a banal scene, a daughter coming home for the weekend, calling for her mother who was just a few feet out of sight. But, Harry had never known that, coming home to a place where he lived with his mother and father, calling for them, and knowing they were just around a corner. He tried imagining it…shouting “Mum,” or “Dad”, and his mum saying “In here!” meaning the kitchen, where she was chopping vegetables or taking something out of the oven, while Rosie, an auburn-haired miniature of his mother with thin limbs like a young deer, looked on; his dad looking up from a book about the nature of magic and energy, with spectacles just like Harry’s and a patient look, ready to answer any question, explain any mystery…  
“In here, darling!” she called cheerfully, and Hermione led them to her parents’ personal office.  
There were family photos, houseplants, laptop computers, and books everywhere, not just on the bookshelves. Hermione’s dad looked up from his computer briefly to give a welcoming wave and smile. He had tightly curled gray hair, brown skin like Hermione’s, and eyeglasses. Hermione’s mother was thin in a toned and athletic way, there were smile wrinkles at her blue eyes and mouth when she smiled, but her hair was still wheat blonde, no trace of gray. She wore a baby blue blouse, khaki slacks, and a long string of bodhi seed mala beads.  
“Namaste, everyone,” she said warmly. “It’s so nice that Mione has brought some friends round. Would you like a snack or anything, before you go out to the countryside?”  
“No, love, you know she’s only come round for the car keys and pocket money-the parenting books told us what to expect when they got to this age,” Mr. Granger said.  
She shot him an affectionate glance over her shoulder.  
“Never you mind Francis, he thinks he’s a wit,” Mrs. Granger said. “Are you lot feeling peckish?”  
“You can’t feed them Keto, Caro,” Francis Granger said.  
“Now, who ever said I was making everyone around me eat Keto?” Caroline Granger said.  
Hermione laughed, her eyes bright, and said, “You can be a little pushy about it, Mum.”  
“Thank you, Mione! Too right!” Francis said.  
“Just trying to save us all from debilitating gout!” Caroline said, and shook her head.  
“The malady of kings, they call it,” Francis said.  
“All right, that’s enough, you two!” Hermione said, but she was laughing, clearly used to their act.  
Would Harry’s parents have teased like that, the flirtatiousness of couples settled into their love and life together, embarrassing his friends when they brought them round? He reached for Dora’s hand. Maybe they would be like that, when they were older…  
“I call them Benedick and Beatrice,” Hermione confided, and then, at her friends’ blank faces added, “You know, like Shakepeare? ‘Much Ado About Nothing’?”  
“Hermione’s name comes from ‘A Winter’s Tale’. We rather bonded over Shakespeare, Francis and I,” Caroline confided, and she and her husband shared an affectionate look. “Its so lovely to see you again, Ron, and Harry, but Mione, who’s your new friend?”  
“Mum, Dad, this is Pandora Black, Harry’s godsister,” Hermione said. “She’s only just started at Hogwarts.”  
“How do you do, Ma’am, Sir?” Dora said with flawless cordiality. Both Grangers smiled, charmed.  
“Wonderful to meet you, Pandora. Oh, what an interesting name! I have noticed that, when Hermione tells us about school, that a lot of wizards seem to have names from antiquity. Why is that, if you don’t mind me asking?” Mrs. Granger asked.  
“Well, Ma’am, I believe that our ties to antiquity are quite strong. Many of us still worship the old gods, after all, and keep the festivals of Ancient Rome and Greece, and other kingdoms now since passed into history and legend. And, Seers tend to pick a name that is suitable for a child even before it is born, based on the stars of its birth,” Pandora said. “Maybe the gods send them these intimations…or maybe the Seers have a list of names they are meant to recommend.”  
Mrs. Granger laughed, delighted, and she clearly delighted in Dora’s delivery. Her voice was not quite as posh as Dora’s, but she and her husband gave off an undeniable whiff of education and culture, and they lived in a very enviable neighborhood in London, Notting Hill.  
“Oh, that’s fascinating!” Mrs. Granger said. “So, what do your parents do, Dora?”  
“They’re Alchemists,” Dora said.  
“Well! That is simply remarkable! I have a book somewhere around here from a museum, of the poet William Blake’s alchemical drawings, let me show you,” Mrs. Granger said, but Hermione interjected,  
“Mummy, we’ve got to get to Wiltshire and Oxfordshire,” Hermione said.  
“Oh, well, all right. Are you lot coming back round for dinner?” Caroline said.  
“Is it Keto?” Hermione said.  
“It shall be for me, but no one else has to suffer, no,” Caroline said.  
“Ah, Oxfordshire. Say hello to the verdure of it all for me,” Francis said. “University days, eh, Caro?”  
Caroline blushed and giggled, like a young woman in love.  
“Now, Mione, you don’t have to go up to Oxford, we’ll love you no matter what you do…but they have got a Wizards’ college, I’ve looked in on it,” Francis said.  
“They have?” Harry said.  
“Oh, yes, Percival College,” Caroline said. “We have a friend who ended up in admissions, and she assured us that for a highly performing Hogwarts student, it’s a straight shot!”  
“That’s me done, then,” Ron said.  
“Oh, don’t count yourself out, Ronald-Mione is happy to tutor you up to her standard!” Caroline said brightly.  
Ron and Hermione looked at each other. Harry knew what they were thinking-the effort would kill them both.  
“Pandora, have you looked into Percival?” Francis said.  
“Er, no…I was hoping to be admitted to my parents’ Alchemy order,” she said.  
Caroline nodded sagely, and said, “Being the child of alumni always helps. Well, let me get you those keys, Mione! She’s sorted with petrol, but of course you’ll have to stop on the way back. I can’t wait to hear everything you find out about Merlin, and Stone Henge!” she popped out of the room to get the car keys, and Hermione went with her.  
“Ronald, come have a look at this study a friend sent me, about energy healing. Sounds a lot like what you describe your mum teaching you. Energy medicine is really growing rapidly, being studied at University research hospitals here in the UK and in the US,” said Francis, who knew Ron wanted to be a Healer, and waved him over to see the email with the study from his friend. Mr. Granger was a doctor.  
“All right, here you are. You have a safe trip, everyone!” Caroline said, returning.  
The kids said goodbye to the Grangers. Their visit had made Harry happy. Hermione had so often been the target of bullying and rejection at Hogwarts, it was nice to be reminded that at least she went home to a loving family, with inside jokes and banter, two parents who were very much in love. As they left the townhouse, Hermione explained that her father was from Liberia, descended from American slaves who had gained their freedom and returned to Africa to found a new country, and he and her mother had met while at Oxford.  
“How very romantic, to meet at University!” Dora cooed.  
Harry had noticed that she had spoken of her parents as if they were still living, when the Grangers asked her. He understood-he had not been the only person to imagine a different life at Hermione’s house.  
Hermione unlocked the driver’s door of her parents’ car, parked around the corner, and got in the driver’s seat. Ronald took shotgun, and Harry and Dora had the backseat to themselves. Hermione started the car, and their trip began.


	54. Chapter 54

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dora, Harry, Ron, and Hermione brainstorm, and begin a quest; James and Lily intervene on Ginny's behalf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took some liberties, and a cursory approach, in describing the Uffington Horse area, for the sake of plot and pace. Lily refers to Ginny only as 'Rose' because I figured it would be hard for a mother to let go of the name she'd picked for her child. Stay safe, stay well, and enjoy!

“This is like one of those Muggle movies about road trips,” Ron said, smiling contentedly as the window, whose glass was completely rolled down, blew his ginger hair about his face.  
“Except those movies are usually set in America, in the desert,” Hermione pointed out, and turned the dial of the radio.  
“Oy! Who switches the radio when Black Sabbath is on?!” Ron demanded.  
“But, Ed Sheeran!” Hermione protested.  
While Ron and Hermione fought out classic rock v. Top 40, Harry stroked Dora’s hand with his thumb to get her attention. She was looking out the window at the countryside. A light rain had briefly fallen, but it had ended quickly and the sun came out once again, touching the country road a glistening shade of heather, strewn with rain shining like careless diamonds, and a mist hung about the road and the rolling, verdant plains that bordered the road.  
Dora turned to Harry, with a serene expression in her gray eyes.  
“Are you okay?” he asked softly.  
Dora nodded. “I’m fine. I suppose I just can’t stop thinking about Sarah Applethwaite, and her mother. The way she said, ‘Where is she?’ Such anguish. To think, boys our own age caused that sort of pain.”  
“Who’s Sarah Applethwaite?” Hermione asked.  
Dora and Harry relayed the story of Vesta and Sarah Applethwaite, the Squib villagers, and how it seemed Sarah’s affair with Deverell had ended in her disappearance.  
“What could have happened to Sarah?” Hermione asked.  
“Squib girls are treated like chattel, by Purebloods like Eastling,” Ron said, “they screw them, don’t marry them, if they get knocked up they’re considered lucky if the bloke will do anything for the kid…We were damned lucky that Gin’s got magic, it gives her a chance at a good life.”  
“I’m afraid it’s true-the best a Squib girl can hope for out in the Vale is to enter domestic service at an estate, and work her way up to a senior role like ladies’ maid, head cook, or housekeeper. Or they become dressmakers, or….entertainers,” Dora said.  
“Entertainers?” Harry asked.  
“Yeah, you know, like that fan dancer Eglantine Stanley? The one Seamus keeps pictures of under his pillow?” Ron said.  
“Oh, um…no, I haven’t seen those, actually,” Harry lied, sensing Dora’s and Hermione’s disapproval.  
“What if Sarah became pregnant, and Deverell paid her off to clear out of Hogsmeade while she’s pregnant, so none of his Manticore mates will know?” Harry theorized.  
Hermione frowned thoughtfully and said, “Possible…but, to me it sounds more like a Boyfriend Scam.”  
“A Boyfriend Scam?” Pandora echoed.  
“In the Muggle World, one tactic sex traffickers use to lure in young women to sell is to have a young man approach them, ask them out, date them for a bit, to blind them with love and gain their trust. The Boyfriend brings the girl round to a hotel for a tryst, or a house that’s meant to be his or his family’s, and that’s when the game is up: she’s sold then and there for sex, or raped, or hooked on drugs, to break her spirit before the selling,” Hermione said.  
Dora shuddered, and said, “That’s ghastly. But, do you really think the Manticore runs that deep? I mean, Dr. Lupin described them as much like they are now, vile boys who play malicious pranks on people whom they consider below them…”  
“Right, Fortune said the same thing. But, he also said all the blokes he knew of that were involved when he was in school grew up to become Death Eaters. What if…the Manticore is like a step towards becoming a Death Eater?” Harry said.  
“Like the Hitler Youth?” Hermione said. “Its possible. But, Draco would have been apart of it. He wasn’t,was he, Dora?”  
She shook her head vehemently. “No, I never heard him mention it, nor overheard him and my uncle discuss it.”  
“Eastling’s father was a Death Eater, and now that Draco’s out of school, Slytherin house is his playground. He got the Manticore up and running, it’s obvious,” Ron said.  
“Okay, so say it is a straight shot from the Manticore to being a Death Eater, what do they want with Squib girls?” Harry said. “Sirius told me the Death Eaters have a lot of beliefs about women and magical energy…but Squibs have no magic.”  
“They’re expendable, though,” Hermione said. “They’re looked down on and relegated to servile obscurity…so, they’re vulnerable to the sex trade.”  
“Why would the Death Eaters be involved in the sex trade?” Harry asked.  
Pandora gave a bitter laugh, and said, “For the same reason that they want to marry Pureblood heirs and heiresses to each other: money. When rich people marry each other, they protect their money. When they sell others, they make more money.”  
Harry nodded, taking all of this in.  
“We’re going to have to approach this Applethwaite matter delicately…Dora, you’re taking Neville to the Tarleton ball, aren’t you?” Hermione said.  
“Yes,” she confirmed.  
“Then he’ll be your second if anything goes down,” Ron said.  
“Question the dressmakers, and Sarah’s mother, when we return to Scotland,” Hermione said.  
“But, these people are dangerous! You say they’re selling women like dragon eggs and you still want Dora to go in there, and ask questions?” Harry said.  
“She’s the only one of us who can even remotely pass with that crowd, and she wants to do it-what’s the problem?” Hermione said.  
“I do want to do this, Harry. For me, for being kept from school and almost forced to marry someone I don’t love; for Lucy, who’s childhood had to end so early; for my aunt, who’s given up on happiness and being loved; for Belphoebe, who never got a chance to live. This system destroys women’s lives from the moment they’re born!” Dora said. “I want to break that system. And I want to find Sarah.”  
“Dora…” Harry said, struggling for the right words. “I don’t want you to end up lost, like Rose!”  
A pregnant silence spread throughout the car, at the mention of Harry’s missing sister.  
“Is there any chance, Harry, that Rose could be alive? Think: you were spared, by someone. And the prophecy didn’t apply to Rose, so isn’t it likely that she could have been spared, too? Seen as not important enough to hurt?” Hermione said.  
“I don’t know! I don’t know, and I’ll never know,” Harry said. “the point is, in this war, with Voldemort, people get lost. I don’t want that to happen to any of you. But…Ron, Hermione, Dora, I know its your choice to fight him, too, and I respect your choices.”  
Ron reached behind him to give Harry an affectionate squeeze on his shoulder. His dark blue eyes met Harry’s green ones, and he said, “We’re with you, mate.”  
“Always, Harry,” Hermione said.  
“My love, look!” Dora said, and pointed out the window.  
The mist wreathed road was winding by one of the ancient green mounds, the barrows, round hills pointing towards the blue sky.

James and Lily had been ghosts for over a decade, but to other ghosts that was not a long time. That was infancy, barely a blink in the eye of heaven, as the other ghosts of Hogwarts were quick to remind them.  
“My dear boy, I know how frustrating it must be for one such as clever as you to hear this, but one must crawl before one walks, musn’t one?” Sir Nicholas de Mimsy Porpington had told James. “You are anxious to speak to your son, I know, but when young Henry if of age, well, yes, of course, you may come to him in a Visitation.”  
“It isn’t just about Harry, Sir Nick,” James said. “Has anyone really studied ghosthood? I mean, made a long running empirical study of their own ghosthood? The way I see it, what we are is deathless energy, inexhaustible, able to change forms and impact matter. I wonder at the boundaries of that! Are there any?”  
The ghosts of Hogwarts were interesting people, but they simply were not scientifically minded, and Jamie was. When he discovered that their friend Remus was a werewolf, he and Sirius experimented with Transfiguration until they found a way to become Animagi, animal spirited shapeshifters, to accompany him on the full moon. Lily was curious about what they could do with their energy, too. Why were some ghosts as solid as the living, others translucent, others barely a cold mist? Why could some carry on perfectly pleasant conversations, and others were silent? She and Jamie mulled all of these questions and their theories over, but at the moment Lily’s whole mind was on her daughter, Rose.  
“Rosie’s not back from the village,” Lily said.  
“Lil…we said we’d give her and her bloke some privacy, remember?” James said.  
“I know, but, I just have a feeling…mother’s intuition, I guess,” Lily said.  
“You shall simply have to wait. Hogsmeade is outside our purview,” Sir Nick said, as the three ghosts drifted through the corridors. They passed some of their fellow ghosts, silvery, floating beings, who nodded in greeting.  
“Oh, my, was that Anne Boleyn?” Lily said.  
“Why, yes! She was one of our most generous patronesses! But, mind you…it’s a bit wearisome how she insists on speaking only French. And she’s veritably smug about her clean, tidy decapitation by a swordsman from Calais,” Sir Nick said. He could really get worked up about his near decapitation.  
Before Sir Nick could bang on, James said, “Actually, Nick, Lil and I head up to the village fairly often. See the sights, look round the shops, you know. Nothing like a kiss by the Coventina fountain, under a full moon…”  
Lily smiled. James had a bit of a flair for the dramatic, he was a subtle but effective storyteller, and he got just what he wanted from Sir Nick-a baffled, curious look that begged for an explanation.  
“Its true, Sir Nicholas. We can go to Hogsmeade. When Harry was old enough to visit, we wanted to follow him and keep an eye on him. So, we did,” Lily said.  
“But, however did you accomplish that?” Sir Nick asked.  
“Its simply a matter of relaxing one’s senses, yoking one’s energies to the air, and not resisting as it carries you. If you must think at all, think of your destination, only, and the wind will carry you along on a current blowing that way,” James said.  
Nick looked from Lily to James, and said, “You Potters…you have something other ghosts do not. Be careful, lest they try to devour it.”  
“Devour it?” Lily asked. “What, like, the way Dementors eat souls?”  
“Rather, yes. You see, what makes you unique is that you have each other, I think. Yes, I believe that sharing your energy, encouraging and strengthening each other, is what gives you the energy to be more than the mean, pitiable shades most of us are at your young age. Your presences nourish each other, and saves you from the hunger of other ghosts,” Sir Nick said.  
“That’s what Taoist and Buddhist tradition calls ghosts who have no relatives to burn graveyard goods for them, and pray for them at a family altar: hungry ghosts,” James said.  
“And, in The Odyssey and The Aeneid, Odysseus and Aeneas had to feed the ghosts their own blood for them to be able to speak,” Lily said.  
“Precisely. Don’t flaunt this energy you have, or a jealous, hungry ghost will devour you,” Sir Nick said.  
“Are you saying ghosts cannibalize each other?” James said.  
“They grow desperate. We are, after all, only human,” Sir Nick said.  
James put a protective arm around Lily, as if he feared a hungry ghost was going to appear at any moment.  
“Well, Potters, you should be off,” Sir Nick said.  
James slipped his hand into Lily’s. They both grew still, and listened for each other’s energy. Together, they slipped through the glass of the window and let the wind carry them to Hogsmeade, to Rose.  
When they looked for Harry, their son, they summoned the happiest thoughts and memories they had of him, almost like casting Patronus charm, and their energy always located his. Lily summoned her memories of Rose: even before she was born, she had filled Lily with purpose and happiness, and her joy had been almost overwhelming when she finally got to hold Rosie’s soft, round, smooth, fair and tender little body. She loved her dark eyes and copper hair, the little cooing noises she made, even the midnight hour wails that shocked Lily awake because it meant she had done it, she had gotten stronger, lived, brought Rose Rowan into the world, and her little girl had a healthy set of lungs! She had been one year old when Lily died, a fat, long baby grasping for proper speech, strong and happy.  
She was not yet even a ghost for much of Rose’s childhood. She wasn’t sure where her soul had been, before she woke up again, in ghostly form. It was like one of those nights where you don’t dream, or don’t have any dreams you remember. When she arrived at Hogwarts, she was skinny with long red hair the way Lily herself had been at that age, but with Severus’s dark, dark eyes that looked all around at everything, surveying, with a shy hesitance so profound it looked like suspicion. Her baby who had screamed so demandingly for her attention, and with her chubby, soft little hand had definitively swatted her brother Harry’s hand away when he reached for her share of Oreos or graham crackers, had grown up into a shy little girl, who hung back, watched, and listened even with her friends, the way Severus had with Lily, Robbie, and Remus.  
Playing sports helped her come out of her shell, and Lily’s ghostly heart had been warmed to see Rose learn to share her opinions, make jokes, and participate with other children. Her adoptive father’s death had decimated any gains in her confidence she had made from playing on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and she had that hesitance in her eyes again. Lily worried for her.  
“Lily, there!” James said. “By God, she looks just like you.”  
“All redheads don’t look alike, Potter,” Lily said. Rose was slightly shorter than Lily, her eyes were dark like Severus’s, and she had his chin…but, she didn’t expect anyone to know Rose as minutely as she did. She was her mother.  
James and Lily touched down outside the Hog’s Head tavern, and blew past Aberforth Dumbledore at the bar as they headed upstairs. They felt for Rose’s presence, and found her in a room at the end of the hall.  
“Erm, Lil….you might want to look away…” James said.  
Rosie, her baby Rose, lay beneath that Roger Shepherd boy on a bed with a dusty, thin blanket. They were both, thankfully, Lily thought, still clothed. He made throaty noises of passion and writhed enthusiastically between Rose’s gaped legs, but Lily knew what a woman who was legitimately experiencing pleasure looked and sounded like, and Rose was too still, too silent. She wasn’t enjoying, she was going along.  
“Get off her, you bastard! Get off my Rosie!” Lily shouted, enraged, blind with anger. Rose looked so small, beneath that filthy boy.  
“Lil! Focus!” Jamie said.  
“Focus?! Focus! While that punk has his way with my kid? He’s seventeen! He’s of age! Rosie is only 15! Who takes a 15 year old girl to the Hog’s Head?! And look at the poor thing, she’s terrified!” Lily said.  
“You're scattering, Lily. The meanest ghosts are the angry ones,” Jamie said. “If you want to help Ginny, you have to focus your energy. We can stop this. Think Bruce Lee, babe: ‘Be like water. Water can flow, or it can crash.’”  
“Bruce Lee?!” Lily said, outraged.  
Sometimes Jamie was too philosophical to be practical. Roger paused his onslaught of Rose’s mouth to take his shirt off. Rose’s shirt was unbuttoned, revealing her bra and her stomach.  
“I’d be lost without you,” he said, and kissed her breasts, and her stomach. “You understand…”  
“I do, Roger. And I’m sorry Sirius, Anthea, and Maurice were so rude to you. They should have asked you questions about your beliefs, instead of being so cold and dismissive,” she said.  
Lily didn’t like the satisfaction in his eyes. It wasn’t like Jamie’s gift for storytelling and getting a reaction with a tantalizing hint…Roger believed something about himself and the world that he very much wanted someone else to believe, and he was using a heady mix of romance and sympathy to get Rose to believe it. She was vulnerable and in pain, and she wanted to be the center of someone’s world.  
‘Water…flow…crash…’ Lily thought.  
“The pipes!” she said.  
Jamie nodded, patiently. They held each other’s hands, and focused on the pipes that lined the walls of the room. They joined their energy, and sent it out. Lily felt the moment that the pipes burst, and heard the crash of water pouring from the ceiling, pouring furiously on Roger Shepherd’s back. He scampered off Rose, and she hastily put on her shirt.  
Lily cackled…like a witch. 

Hermione parked in the gravel car park, and then she, Harry, Ron, and Dora got out and walked the foot trail that led through the green valley, to the ancient stones and barrows. The sky overhead was blue and clear, and the vibrantly green plains rolled out to the seam of the horizon. The grass of the plains was mostly smooth, and the view rolled out in green expanses of flat land and raised barrows like a field of sleeping dragons beneath the grass.  
“At one point in prehistory, Britain was actually a peninsula connected to Europe, in a continental landmass called Doggerland,” Hermione said. “The peninsula broke off when a glacial lake formed. The people who lived during this time were hunter-gatherers. They built these man made hills, barrows, as burial chambers for kings, priests, and magicians.”  
“So, those round hills, they were man-made?” Harry asked.  
“At some sites in Ireland, they’re made of quartz and covered in grass, but here the barrows here are made of chalk,” Hermione said. “So is the horse.”  
“What horse?” Harry asked.  
“Look! Up here!” Ron called.  
He and Dora had walked out to a branch of the trail. Harry and Hermione followed, and they walked out to a spot where the sunshine touched the hills, and golden light graced the white outline of the chalk horse. It was a curious creature, that really looked more like the long, lean form of a dragon with a long neck, and tail.  
“The barrow beneath it, over there, is called Dragon Hill-where St. George slew the dragon. And Stone Henge is a few miles off,” Hermione said. “Some theorize that the light is meant to travel across the body of the horse, and strike the center of Stone Henge, on the Solstice days, to symbolize the journey of the souls to the underworld. Robert Graves, in The White Goddess, wrote, ‘The Celtic Heaven…was the sun itself, a blaze of light, caused by the shining together of myriads of pure souls’.”  
“That’s beautiful, Hermione,” Pandora said.  
“What about that tower, over there?” Harry asked, expecting more historical information.  
“What tower, Harry?” Hermione asked, scanning the distance with a surveying frown.  
“Yes, I don’t see a tower, either,” Dora said.  
“Its right there! Just like it was in my dream,” Harry said. “There’s the barrow, the horse…and over there is the tower.”  
“I see it, too!” Ron said. “Why can’t you two see it? Is it because you’re girls?”  
“I doubt that has anything to do with it,” Hermione said crossly.  
“Harry…if you see the tower from your dream, a dream in which the Dark Lord spoke to you…perhaps it is best you turn away from it,” Dora said. “It may be an illusion.”  
“No, Dora, I can see it, too,” Ron said.  
Hermione and Dora exchanged a look.  
“Should we go towards it?” Ron asked Harry.  
He looked at Dora and Hermione, trying to gauge what they thought.  
“It reminds me of that poem…Childe Roland, to the Dark Tower came,” Hermione said. “If we go, we go together.”  
“Together,” Dora said.  
“Even if you can’t see it?” Harry asked.  
The girls nodded. Harry’s gratitude, to have all three of them by his side, was impossible to put into words.  
He calmed himself, and said, “Keep your wands ready.”


	55. Chapter 55

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anthea worries for Ginny, and Sirius admits a regret; Severus reflects on his shared childhood with Robbie, Remus, and Lily, and finds a new hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for reading and following the twisty journey that is 'The Alchemist's Daughter'. I am so, so grateful to all of you.

“Well, that was quite a scene!” Anthea said, as she, Maurice, Remus, and Sirius sat down to a dinner, lovingly prepared by Remus, of beef Wellington style venison filets, a mushroom and oyster risotto dish with a butter and garlic sauce, and a summery white wine with fruit and floral notes.  
Maurice nodded gravely. “Do you know anything about that young man?”  
Sirius shook his head. “She’s never brought him round before.”  
“He’s certainly…civic minded,” Remus said dryly.  
“He’s a loaded gun, and a peacock, and a love starved little boy all in one package,” Sirius said. “He felt ignored when Ginny talked or when we talked to her, and lashed out. I know a ranting street preacher when I see one.”  
“Oh? From your days on the London punk scene?” Remus quipped.  
“Well, there was certainly a lot of political ranting. But, at least in punk no one expects to be great, famous, or legendary. If anything, its hard to tempt a punk away from the allure of living fast and dying young, secure in one’s principles. A long life, a comfortable life, is for sellouts. Roger wants something different, and I think he thought it would begin here,” Sirius said.  
“Oh, to the devil with him! What concerns me, cousin, is that you let her go off with him! A boy you describe as a loaded gun! I don’t see the sense in it. But, you are Paterfamilias of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, I am sure you know best!” Anthea said, and murderously stabbed a venison filet.  
Sirius raised one dark eyebrow bemusedly at Anthea, and said, “Are you patronizing your patriarch?”  
“Oh, no, I’d never!” Anthea said flippantly. Remus and Maurice laughed into their wine.  
“Look, Anthea, I know Ginny is a favorite of your’s, but she’s not a little thing eating macaroons anymore. She’s a young woman with a terrible wound to her heart, the death of her father. People who mean her well see that and want to help her. People with less noble intentions see that and think it makes her an easy mark for whatever shit they’re selling-pardon my French,” Sirius said.  
“Vous etes excuse,” Anthea said. “But, I repeat: you let her go off with him.”  
“I know what Roger is, all right? To my shame, I was Roger when I was 16. I had a….friend. A boyfriend. Robbie Fortune. He was a diamond in the rough, a scrawny little small town rose-in- concrete from up north, hardscrabble and soft inside, with a gift for music, always clinging to a pawn shop guitar. After everything with Bella and Belphoebe, he was the light in my life. But I drained him. I was a jealous wreck whenever he was around his friends, I was needy, and possessive. Eventually it all blew up with me and his best friend, hexes got thrown, and the bloke was aiming for me, but he got Jamie. It was some sort of cutting curse I’d never seen before, and Jamie nearly bled to death. Ironically, the boy who cursed him saved his life with the countercurse of his own hex. It was my fault, as surely as the boy who’d cast the hex. And Robbie, he was finished with all of it-he ran away that very night,” Sirius said.   
“So, you know the danger Ginny’s in!” Anthea said.  
“I know me at that age, and I was an abusive git to Robbie because I needed him. And I guess to some extent he put up with it because my attention was so overwhelming and proprietary, it was the most like love and belonging to someone he had ever felt. Its hard to warn someone away from that kind of love with just words. We’ll have to be patient, because she’s in the barrel of the tornado, right now,” Sirius said.   
“Poor, dear girl,” Anthea sighed.  
“Do you still want her for the Guild?” Maurice asked.  
“Yes, of course, she’s very bright. Strong opinions, but she knows how to pull back and watch what’s going on, like a bee in a curtain. I think she could do well in Gryffindor Coven government. We’re going to need new approaches when that saggy tit Fudge is out of the Archmagister chair,” Sirius said.  
Anthea and Maurice laughed at his candor.  
“Darling, will you help me bring dessert out?” Remus said, and they left the dining room for the kitchen. When they were in the kitchen, Remus took the chilled marshmallow pears-Faerie fruit with sweet, gooey, marshmallow esque fruit beneath their skin-drizzled in chocolate sauce out of the freezer, and Sirius helped him set them on plates, with frost cream-a light, wispy form of ice cream made of snow from the Winter Faerie lands-on the side of each pear.   
“You think you abused Robbie?” Remus said.  
“I think I was a bottomless pit, after leaving home, after losing Belphoebe. I sucked up all Robbie’s time and attention, needed him to worship me, and I was terribly jealous,” Sirius said.  
“Oh, Sirius,” Remus sighed, and kissed his cheek. “You’ve been through a lot, too, you know.”  
Sirius felt at his waistcoat as if looking for something in his pockets, and said, “Hmm, that’s odd…I can’t seem to find my teeny-weeny violin, to play a sad, self pitying tune. I’ll have to leave it, then.”  
“Oh, stop. We all could have done things better, in those days. Severus could have done without trying to hex you. And, he was quite possessive of Robbie, himself. When we were all kids in Cokeworth, our friend group had a structure. Lily was the mother, she looked after and loved us all; Severus was…like the dad. He knew all about magic, from his mother, so he had all the answers, and told us what was and wasn’t a good idea. Robbie wasn’t wanted at home, so he was glad to have some kind of guidance and love,” Remus said. “When we all grew up…it was complicated. Sev fancied Lily, and she liked him right back, but she didn’t want to ruin the friendship, so they both found other people-Ada for him and Jamie for her; Robbie loved Sev madly, blindly, with all his heart, but Sev couldn’t bring himself to be all in with a boy, not with the way his father had shamed him growing up.”  
“Well, his loss. Robbie was a sweet little thing…he’s so different now, so strong, so confident-I’m proud of him,” Sirius said, with a sigh for days gone by. “And don’t leave yourself out, Madam. You were quite a scarlet woman back in the day-keeping me and my brother on the go…”  
“Oh, no, no!” Remus objected playfully. “I was with Regulus! How was I supposed to know that you were allegedly pining away for me, while you were snogging everyone else?!”  
Sirius laughed, and looked at Remus with adoration. He had loved him since before he knew his name, the first time he saw the little brown-haired boy with shy, sweet, whiskey brown eyes on the Hogwarts Express. Sirius wrapped his arms around Remus, looked into those amber eyes, and brushed his lips against Remus’s. Remus deepened the kiss, and Sirius wrapped his arms around Remus.   
Remus pulled away. “Sirius… I do wish you would shave your mustache. It’s a little Doc Holliday for my tastes,” he said. “All right, pick up a couple of plates, let’s serve dessert.”  
Sirius obeyed. 

Robbie, Severus remembered, had always liked volunteering in the school gardens. Rubeus Hagrid, the half-Giant groundskeeper, had taken to Robbie in his first year, and was happy to teach him how to care for the plants of the garden and the animals of the menagerie. It was the only thing that calmed Robbie’s nervous energy as well as music. By their seventh year, Robbie was known amongst their peers for two oddities: speaking to ghosts, even those other students could not see, and playing his guitar by the lake, in the Slytherin common room, and by the Coventina fountain in Hogsmeade. Sometimes by the fountain people tipped him, but Robbie didn’t sing Bob Marley, Bob Dylan and the Beatles for money or attention-it was how he kept the voices that penetrated his thoughts away, the dead appealing for his aid or notice.   
In the form of the Raven, Severus watched Robbie, shirtless and pouring sweat beneath the blue springtime sky, digging a row for the school gardens.   
“Aww, you’re a Professor now, Robbie, you ain’t got to come out here and help me with this,” Hagrid said.  
“Don’t be daft, Hagrid. I wouldn’t be nothin’ without you takin’ me under your wing the way you did. Gave me confidence, you know,” Robbie said.  
Hagrid looked pleased, he even blushed. “Well, I think everyone deserves a chance, is all,” he said. “Its good to have ya back, lad.”  
The Raven was miffed. Hagrid?! It was Hagrid Robbie thanked for giving him a chance?!   
Shortly after meeting Lily, her girls’ school let out for the summer, and she and Severus began spending all their days together. They found frogs, birds’ nests, and fruits and herbs in the secret corners of their town, by the river and in the forests. When they were accustomed to long hours in each other’s company, they had enough trust in each other and confidence to hike out to the rolling, heathery moors. They named the rock formations, made up stories about the nymphs and water monsters that lived in the trickling brooks that flowed through weathered channels on the moors, and lay in the heather, dreaming about what Hogwarts would be like.  
“Can I show you something, Lily?” Severus asked, one day. “Don’t be scared.”  
Lily frowned. “I’m not a wimp because I’m a girl,” she said crossly.   
Severus took her to the town graveyard. Where the weathered gravestones were overgrown with thistles and dandelions, they had to wave the weeds away to read the names written on them.   
“These are the wizard families who used to live round here,” Snape said.  
“There used to be so many! Now…its just us. And your mum,” Lily said.  
“Not exactly,” Severus told her. “There’s a boy, in this town. He’s like us. I’ve felt his energy. We have to find him, and tell him about Hogwarts, and not to do magic in front of Muggles…”  
“Or he’ll be taken away…and sent to Azkaban, where the Dementors are…” Lily said, shivering.  
Severus dared to hug her. “Don’t worry, Lily. Dementors will never get you. You’re smart, and you know the rules now,” he said.  
At the time, he’d thought that Lily had a special, bright light. A magic that felt like sunshine, tasted like apples, and left the echo of music in the air. He’d thought it could protect her from any darkness…he’d learned that it was the opposite, it drew the hungry abyss to her, to swallow her light like a chasm of pure gravity in a volatile corner of deep space.   
“Where can we find him?” she had asked.  
Robbie gave them a merry chase. He was slippery, distrustful, was used to prowling the town by himself like an alley cat, and gave them the slip many times before they caught up with him in the junkyard, and Lily coaxed him out of his fort made of old couch cushions and broken kitchen chairs. When they cleaned him up at Lily’s house, beneath an exterior reminiscent of Pigpen from “Peanuts” he was revealed to be a skinny, short blonde boy with one brown eye, and one blue eye.  
“What you been devilin’ me for? What you want outta me?” he asked.  
“We want to tell you that you’re a wizard!” Lily said. “And its not safe for you to be alone. Be our friend, and we’ll take care of you!”  
Despite his earlier belligerence, such a tantalizing prospect to a friendless boy didn’t take much more ‘deviling’ for him to accept, and Robbie became apart of their days. He had rough ways, but his nature was a pliable and eager to please one: he listened to Severus about what would and would not incur the wrath of the Ministry or the Muggles, and let Lily coddle and chastise him. He told them his history, having no guile to lie: his mother had died at his birth, his sister, Branwen, loved him, his father loathed him, and his father ran a gambling parlor and unlicensed pub in their home.   
“Dad says I’m cursed, for killin’ Mum,” Robbie says. “Doesn’t like me around, so I shift for myself when Branwen’s not home-and she ain’t never home, now. Doesn’t like the blokes that Dad has for customers.”  
“Well, you’ve got us, now,” Lily said, and hugged him.

They met Remus on the moors, hiding from a Gytrash he had seen in the mist.   
“There are dwarves out here, too, actually, but they’re quite reticent,” he said, grasping the sides of the rock he hid behind, looking comically terrified.  
“You should leave creatures like that to themselves-only a grown wizard who’s an expert in Defense Against the Dark Arts could sort a Dark Creature, and you haven’t even got a wand,” Severus said.  
“Well…creatures, dark and otherwise, just sort of find me,” Remus gasped.   
Robbie laughed-ill timed laughter was one of his habits, as was seeing and speaking to ghosts. Severus knew the word for that, ‘Necromancer’, but it was weighty, grown up, and scary, and after scaring Lily by describing the Dementors, he was hesitant to tell Robbie what his gift was called, and that some would call it a curse.   
He couldn’t believe that Robbie was cursed.   
At Hogwarts, Robbie and Severus were placed in Slytherin, Lily and Remus in Gryffindor. Robbie was strange and vulnerable, and clung to Severus, who did his best to navigate both of them through the hierarchy of privileged Pureblood students. The gulf between Severus and Lily widened-she thought he played along too convincingly and didn’t do enough for Robbie. School wasn’t what Severus had hoped it would be, and in the wake of Sirius Black’s torment, and the Slytherin boys’ intimidation, he longed for summer, for long days on the moors or by the river, or at Remus’s house, where his mother with her breathy movie queen voice let them eat marshmallow puff sandwiches for lunch and spread their school textbooks all over her living room floor, discussing magical theories they wished they could try, while she had long conversations on the phone with her agent.  
But, things changed. Remus spent some summers at James Potter’s house, an old estate outside Hogsmeade; Lily’s parents became uncomfortable with all her friends being boys and began to take her on holidays to Jersey, Spain, and Cornwall.   
Increasingly, it was just Severus and Robbie. They talked about magic, as always-not just what they learned at Hogwarts, but in old shops they found books with yellowed pages, fraying bindings, termite eggs and bookworms between the pages, about anthropological studies of shamanism in Central Asia, the Americas, and Africa. Robbie loved the pictures of shamans in their masks. They also found books by the refined gentlemen and ladies of the Edwardian Hermetic orders. They found an old shack, probably some sort of gardener’s shed, by the river, and stashed their books, some blankets, flashlights and batteries there. Sometimes they slept there, when their houses became too loud. Robbie was a warm, familiar weight on Severus’s leg as he fell asleep while Severus read ‘The Sea Priestess’ by Dion Fortune. He wished his mother was like the kind, funny, mysterious priestess Vivian Le Fay Morgan, or that, like the hero of the novel, Vivian herself would take him under her wing and, with gentle prodding teach him the secrets of Atlantis’s lost magic. She wouldn’t, at any rate, tolerate a brute like his father, who shouted, threw things, and broke things, the way his mother did.   
Did those secret enclaves of magician scholars still exist, Severus wondered? He imagined him and Robbie somehow making it to London, knocking on the door of a stately but discreet townhouse, the door being opened by a woman identical to how he imagined Ms. Fortune’s heroine, Vivian: agelessly beautiful, with wise gray eyes. She would know why they had come and what they had run from, feel their magic the way Severus had felt his friends’ magic, and usher them inside kindly to a world of gentille, intelligent people who never shouted, and spent their days studying mysteries and magic.   
He knew it was just a dream…the only real relief from the tension and memories of his home was this, Robbie drooling on his knee and sleeping in perfect trust on his lap.   
Severus told Robbie his fantasy, and Robbie said, “I think of runnin’ away all the time, too. Why don’t we try it? We may not find any wizards like that lady from your book, but we’d have each other.”  
They lay facing each other on a blanket on the floor of the shack.   
“Don’t be daft, Robbie,” Severus murmured. “Its just a silly dream.”  
“All I’d need is you, Sev,” Robbie said, and held Severus’s gaze, with his eyes like a frozen prism.   
Time stretched, held them in its palm, and in its languid gravity, Robbie moved closer, and softly pressed his lips to Severus’s. They kissed, shyly at first, but by summer’s end they were not shy, anymore. As long as they were alone, in the sanctuary of the little house by the river, far from the loveless homes waiting for them, it felt natural to kiss and caress and hold each other. Robbie was his: he had found him, he protected him, holding him was like welcoming a missing rib back beneath his skin…  
But, it was Hagrid he credited with helping him settle in at Hogwarts?! Robbie had erased him, and their friendship…

“Shoo! Shoo, you!” Hagrid said, swatting at what he believed was a crow with a rake. “Bloody crows.”   
“That ain’t a crow,” Robbie said, scrutinizing the bird. “That’s a raven…”  
“Is it? Never could tell ‘em apart. Do the same thing, don’t they? Peck at things what they shouldn’t,” Hagrid said.  
“That Raven…it ain’t right…” Robbie said. He focused his energy, and pulled the raven to him, to the ground.   
Severus Snape hit the ground, in an undignified heap.   
“My leg!” he cried.  
“Professor Snape?” Hagrid said.  
“Aww, shit, Sev-what are you doing here?” Robbie said, and rushed over to Severus, whom he hadn’t seen in months.   
Robbie grasped Severus under his arms, and helped him to his feet. Severus winced as he stood.   
“Reckon its broken?” Robbie asked.  
“I don’t reckon, it is broken, you broke it!” Severus snarled. He regretted it. Robbie trembled and froze up when someone yelled at him, it reminded him of his dad. He looked at Robbie, expecting to see a shiny glaze over his widened heterochromatic eyes, his shoulders rigid with fear, his hands shaking.  
Rob, all grown up, was not so easily scared. His expression was a laconic smirk. Stubble like gold thread dotted his jaw, and once again Severus noticed that he was shirtless, his toned torso brushed with sweat. His shoulders were rosy with the beginning of a burn, and Severus felt a twinge of yearning in his hands to apply some soothing tincture or balm to Robbie’s shoulders.   
“Well, what were you flyin’ around for?” Robbie said. Before he could answer, Robbie said, “Come on, let’s get you sorted. Lean on me.”  
Severus leaned on Robbie, and Robbie helped him to Hagrid’s cabin.   
Severus felt an abrupt familiarity that aligned him like a magnet beneath his feet. His lingering obsession for Ada, the desire he’d thought he felt for Pandora, and the comfort he and Lily had given each other…it was nothing like the effortless sanctuary of Robbie’s presence.   
Robbie helped him through the fireplace, through the portal to his house. Robbie helped him to the couch.  
“Where’ve you been, Sev?” Robbie asked.  
“In the service of a vampire,” Severus asked.  
“Why do you need someone to serve, so badly? Voldemort, Ada Vaillancourt…now, a Vampire, it seems,” Robbie said.  
“Because you left me,” Severus said.  
“I didn’t want you and Sirius to fight any more. I wasn’t worth it. You were both smart, with real futures ahead of you, I was ruining things,” Robbie said.  
“I can’t stand to see him touch you, and kiss you….he doesn’t know how to look after you,” Severus said, as if they were still boys, as if only moments before he had seen Sirius’s long, leanly muscular Beater’s body, honed to the sleek power of a big cat, pressed against Robbie, his lips glued to Robbie’s and his tongue in Robbie’s mouth.   
“I’m sorry,” Robbie said. “I guess I just wanted to…drive you a bit crazy. You were gone over Ada…”  
“Yes, I was. I loved her. I still love her. But, I’m no good at love. I’m uncertain with women, and ashamed with men. I was better at love when we were kids, and I didn’t even know that’s what I was doing. Teaching you magic, making sure you didn’t break any magical secrecy laws, being there when your father was angry, or Remus’s mother was bringing a new man around, or Lily was trying to accept that she was a witch, but it didn’t have to be a slur, a dark thing…I could be there. I could do that. I can’t be there for anyone anymore,” Severus lamented. “I’ve lost the trick of it.”  
“You just need someone to love. Who’ve you got to love, Sev?” Robbie asked.  
“I…I have a daughter. Her name is Rose,” Severus said.  
“Looks just like Lil. But, she’s shy, like you,” Robbie said.   
He knew, about Ginny. Severus was relieved. He was relieved when Robbie kissed him. He felt like Odysseus, away for so long amongst gods, generals, kings, and monsters, finally coming home to Ithaca. It had never been Ada, Lily, or Dora…it had been Robbie, all along. Was it too late for him, Severus wondered, to be better, to be free? To be human once more, to be Rose’s father, to love Robbie as he wished to love him? Something like hope started to peck out of its shell in Severus’s heart.


	56. Chapter 56

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry visits another realm; Harry, Dora, and Ron spend time with Hermione's family; Regulus strikes out on his own

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Dora are, in this story, both mixed race women of color, and in this chapter they discuss how this has impacted their lives.

Harry, Dora, Hermione and Ron trekked towards the tower. At some points, they lost sight of it, the tower swallowed by a dip in the green, rolling landscape, then it appeared again, rising as if from a chasm in the green earth, capped by the high afternoon sun shining on the gray stone.  
“But, why can’t we see it?” Hermione asked, but no one had a clear theory. They knew only that Harry and Ron could see the gray tower.  
“If the Dark Lord is waiting there…what then?” Dora said.  
“That doesn’t feel right…I feel like there’s something I have to find out, there,” Harry said.  
“Information planted by the Dark Lord, possibly,” Dora countered.  
“Dora…trust me,” Harry appealed. “We found the Grange by ourselves, remember?”  
Dora sighed, resignedly, and said, “All right, but I’m going in there with you, even if the place is bloody invisible.”  
Harry laughed, and slipped his arm around her waist.  
“Up there!” Ron said, and ran up the hill to the tower.  
The other three followed in his wake, and they reached the tower’s wooden door, which was carved with a spiral symbol like the eyes of a cartoon character being hypnotized by a watch. A breeze blew and the green grass waved around their ankles on the hill. Time hung over their shoulder like a canopy cradling gathered rain. It was time for some move to be made, but Harry did not know what step to take.  
“Oh, I hope its not a matter of blood,” Hermione said. “Some places need blood to be entered…”  
“Oh, no, once you’ve given it, the house remembers-I hope its not that,” Dora said.  
“Yeah, mate, if that’s it, don’t do it,” Ron said.  
“How am I supposed to know if it is or it isn’t? I have no idea what to do!” Harry snapped, and instantly felt guilty. None of them had deserved that. Only loyalty and love had brought them here, based on his dream and intuition. A girlfriend as beautiful and loving as Dora, a best friend as steadfast as Ron and another as smart as Hermione, he knew he hardly deserved them, and said, “I’m sorry.”  
“Its all right,” Ron said quickly.  
“It most certainly is not all right!” Hermione said stiffly.  
“And we’ll discuss it in the car. For now, let’s open this door,” Dora said…..and the door gaped open with a creak.  
“Oh…yeah, I hadn’t thought of that,” Ron said.  
“Next time we come to a magical invisible castle, we’ll just talk to it,” Harry said.  
“What, is it open? I wish we could see it!” Dora said.  
“You did it. Its open. Hermione, Dora, since you can’t see it, walk between me and Ron. He’ll be ahead of you, I’ll be behind you,” Harry suggested.  
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” said a young man standing at the door.  
He was tall and handsome, with red gold hair and gray eyes with a slight tilt at the corners reminiscent of a cat surveying the room from a perch on top of a shelf. He wore rich velvet Renaissance style clothes, and at his belt was a sword with a jeweled hilt.  
“Why not?” Harry asked. “Dora and Hermione helped us find this place, they deserve to see it as much as me and Ron.”  
“Your chivalry is to your credit, but we cannot allow the uninitiated,” said the young man, who was dressed like a prince. Out of the shadows, at his shoulder, stepped another young man who was nearly identical, but taller, slightly older, and with a grave expression where the princely young man betrayed a capacity for mirth at the corner of his mouth, which promised smirk.  
The priestly young man, in a medieval monk’s brown robe, said, “They are witches, to be sure, but priestesses, surely not. It is thus in our sister’s line. She was a Queen, and mother of Queens; Queens who reigned, Queens consort, childless Queens, Queens imprisoned, Queens beheaded, Queens and mothers, Queens of nine days, Queens of long reigns. Witches, some, priestesses, none. Only women dedicated to the goddess, who have drunk from the wells of Avalon, may come to the Castle of Arianrhod.”  
“Is he touched?” Ron said.  
“He is holy,” said the prince. “I am Richard of Shrewsbury-my brother, Edward, was king. You may call me Perkin.”  
“But, you said your name was Richard!” Ron said.  
“Once, he said his name was Edward,” Edward said.  
“But, you’re Edward,” Ron said.  
“I was,” Edward conceded, with a patient, gracious nod.  
“Harry, what’s going on?” Hermione said.  
“There are two blokes at the door, they say you and Dora can’t come in because you’re ‘uninitiated’: witches, not priestesses, and you can’t come into Castle…Arianrhod? And one of them’s called Richard of Shrewsbury, and the other is Edward, but the one called Richard wants to be called Perkin. You get anything out of that?” Harry asked.  
Hermione frowned thoughtfully, and said, “Harry! Richard of Shrewsbury and Edward the Fifth! They’re the Princes in the Tower! The sons of Edward the Fourth and his Queen, Elizabeth Woodville. When Edward the Fourth died, his brother, Richard, who was supposed to be the regent for Edward’s heir, seized the throne instead and imprisoned the princes so the eldest couldn’t take the throne.”  
“So, you two…are you really princes?” Harry asked. “what is this place?”  
“Caer Arianrhod was the castle of the goddess, Arianrhod; heroes went there when they died, like Valhalla,” Hermione answered before the princes could.  
“But, we’re not dead!” Harry said.  
“That is why we are here, to be your guides. Come,” said Perkin. “But, the girls must wait.”  
“They say you two’ve gotta wait. They’re being a bit pushy about it, in this subtle posh bloke kinda way,” Ron said.  
“Come,” Edward said, and so gentle was his manner that Harry didn’t hesitate to obey. His presence was grave, but benevolently so, rather like Dumbledore’s, although Edward looked like a young man and Dumbledore looked ancient.  
Harry turned around, and looked into Dora’s eyes.  
“I have to go,” he said, and grasped her hand.  
“I know. The red chord will lead you back to me,” she said, squeezed his hand, and then let go.  
Ron and Harry followed the princes into the dark entrance hall of Castle Arianrhod. Harry could vaguely make out that the walls were earth, and lined with shields. They walked in darkness, and then emerged in a dining chamber reminiscent of Hogwarts’ Great Hall. There were many tables, and seated at them were young men only a little older than Ron and Harry, in company with old men and men in their middle years. They ate, drank, and talked, and banners and tapestries looked down on them from the ceilings and the walls.  
“So, they’re all dead heroes?” Ron asked.  
“Chosen by the nine priestesses of Avalon,” Perkin said.  
“Why would Voldemort show me this place?” Harry asked.  
“We cannot give aid in your wizard’s war. We can only tell you who you are,” Edward said.  
“Who am I, then?” Harry asked.  
Edward turned away from him. At first, Harry thought he had offended him, but he realized that with a brief, slight nod, Edward was drawing his attention to the most beautiful stained-glass window Harry had ever seen. There were many at Hogwarts, but the glass of this window rippled with color, spinning the light, like sunshine strewn on the cresting and rolling waves of the ocean. It shone over the heads of the heroes, depicting the double tailed mermaid, Melusina.  
“Wait…but, Melusina over a tower, that used to be the symbol of Slytherin! What sort of place is this?” Ron asked, outraged.  
“Really?” Harry asked.  
“Yeah, I think parents started to think a barebreasted mermaid was a little too risqué, and lobbied to have it changed to a serpent,” Ron said.  
“Voldemort thinks he’s descended from her. He said so, in a long rant at the arena at Drakenberg,” Harry said.  
“Melusina, mother of many,” Edward said. “Do you know the story? She was a faerie of Avalon, who fell in love with a knight. She gave him many magical sons, and built towers with her magic. When the knight betrayed her, she flew away, to the mists, a dragon once more. Sometimes, however, her voice can still be heard. The daughters of Melusina are great witches. The sons of Melusina have been known to be peerless among men, with such dread magics as even to speak to serpents.”  
“Parseltongue?” Harry said. Ron nudged him.  
Edward nodded. “So…I can speak to snakes because…I’m descended from Melusina, too?" Harry asked. “Our mother was of Melusina’s line, through the royal house of Burgundy. She shaped her life with magic, but her enemies were many. Our sisters were frightened away from their magic by watching our mother’s fall and exile,” Perkin said. “But, Melusina’s towers were many. Many of her sons were Dragon Riders, in the Wizards’ Wars, and can talk to dragons and lesser serpents….like, for instance, basilisks.”  
“But, if Harry’s descended from Melusina, then him and Voldemort are related?” Ron asked.  
Perkin swept his arm, gesturing to the tables. “Kings, warriors, princes, philosophers, wise men, wizards, Dragon Riders. Your fathers, all,” he said.  
“Is that why he wants to turn me dark? Will that make him more powerful, since we’re connected through Melusina?” Harry asked.  
“We can give no aid,” Edward said.  
A man in an 18th century military uniform came up to them. He looked familiar, but maybe from a portrait or a window, or History of Magic lesson at Hogwarts.  
“Lieutenant General,” Perkin said.  
Lieutenant General…Remus had called his grandfather Lieutenant General Potter! This, Harry deduced, was his grandfather, the Dragon commander.  
“Harry,” said his grandfather, “You must turn back now…”  
“Grandfather! Where’s my dad? Is he here, too?” Harry asked.  
Lieutenant General Potter shook his head. “James has other plans, and he was always happiest when left to his own plans. If anyone dare try him to deter him, he can argue his reasons better than any Guildsman! You will see him soon.”  
“I don’t know what to make of all this…” Harry said. “Is this why Voldemort can get to me?”  
“He can’t, really. That’s why he must lie to you, to draw and hold your attention. Question what you’ve been told. Think for yourself. The truth shall set you free, Harry,” his grandfather said.  
“Sirius told me that Snape sold my mum out to Death Eaters…” Harry said, “and Voldemort said if I kill Snape, Mum will be at peace.”  
“Your mother is with your father. Why would she be restless at his side?” Lieutenant General Potter said. “and as for Sirius…”  
“Is he wrong? About Snape, and Mum?” Harry asked.  
“He is right about what he knows, but he doesn’t know what he doesn’t know. Go now, Harry. Before the portal closes, and you must remain in the Castle of Arianrhod,” said his grandfather.  
“Come on, mate,” Ron said.  
“The way we came,” Perkin said, and led Harry and Ron away from the feasting shades, and back through the dark entrance, to the spiral door.

“I see, now, why Penelope weaved,” Dora said.  
Hermione smiled wryly, and said, “Waiting like this…I’m not used to it.”  
They stared into the distance, and ran when they saw an Egress-like seam in time opened, and Harry and Ron were tossed out onto the grass. They ran to rejoin the girls, and told them all they had seen in Castle Arianrhod, as they walked back to the car park.  
“So, he is your relative, through the line of Melusina. It explains why he has an interest in you,” Pandora said.  
“Could it be possible that…Voldemort wants you to be his heir?” Ron said.  
“He killed my parents!” Harry said.  
“Maybe…so that he could replace them,” Hermione said.  
“Perhaps there has been too much speculation up to this point, already. According to your account of what Lieutenant General Potter said, my Uncle Sirius may have been mistaken in telling Harry that Severus deliberately delivered Mrs. Potter to death. From here, going forward, only the truth can be our guide. We must find out the truth,” Pandora said.  
Ron nodded earnestly. Hermione said, “Quite right, Dora. Harry, do you trust what you and Ronald saw, in there? I mean, the ghosts of the lost Plantagenet princes! All of English history would be different, if Edward the Fifth had been allowed to reign. To think, Britain may still be a French speaking, Catholic nation!”  
“The Beatles would sound a Hell of a lot different, wouldn’t they?” Ron said. Harry managed a small laugh.  
“There are different variations on the Melusina myth…the knight who married her and had many sons by her is sometimes given as French, German, English, or Luxembourgish. Interestingly, While Edward the Fourth’s queen Elizabeth Woodville did claim descent through the house of Luxembourg through Melusina, so did the Plantagenet family. For being the progeny of a siren, a water dragon, a faerie goddess, the royal house of England from the middle ages to the Early Renaissance were called ‘The Demon’s Brood,’” Hermione said.  
“Hmm…all those different knights…reckon ol’ Melusina played the same trick more than once?” Ron said. “I mean, it can’t be easy to find love out there for a dragon/siren/water goddess/faerie. Sounds like she was a serial dater. Who knows? Tell the truth, I think Faeries have got kind of the same ideas about breeding as Death Eaters-they like trying out the idea of creating a new species of man, with magic.”  
“So, she was a mermaid, right?” Harry asked.  
“She was a siren, and also a dragon. She could swim, as well as fly, and turn into mist. When she met her husband, the knight, by the enchanted fountain, she agreed to come away with him and be his wife, but only if he never disturbed her on Saturdays. After several years of marriage and several children, he began to succumb to rumors that his wife practiced witchcraft during her mandated private hour. He spied on her, and saw her secret: on Saturdays, when she bathed, she took her true form, half woman, half fish with two tails. She discovered him spying, and flew away, back to Avalon. She returned only to sing outside the towers she built, when someone of her House was dying,” Pandora said. “I know I said not to speculate, but maybe Ronald is right, and she did try multiple times to find love…each time, the promise she extracted from her mortal husband broken.”  
“Sounds like Merope-she hides in the stars, Melusina went back to the Faerie Country. Just doesn’t work out with these goddesses and mortal blokes, does it?” Harry teased Dora.  
“Ah, but it can! Regard Selene and Endymion: he sleeps forever, never dies, and dreams only of her. Then, there is Adonis and Persephone: she may have him at least part of the year,” Pandora said.  
“Sounds like it takes a lot of patience and magic to date a goddess,” Harry said. He and Dora smiled lingeringly at each other, and then he sighed, and said, “All right, I don’t know what to say about all of this. So, me and Voldemort are both descended from Melusina, both have Faerie blood and Parseltongue…and, he might have killed my parents to take me from them, to be his heir. That’s what we know, and we can’t let our imaginations run wild from here. Stick to the facts.”  
“Just facts. But, he sent the Succubi to collect…DNA from you, right? And after Buttershaw Hall, Dumbledore said that he wanted your blood. Why would he need it if you two are, like, 17th cousins? You share blood, already…” Ron said.  
“We can go over it all at my house,” Hermione said. “Unless you still want to see Avebury Hill?”  
“At this rate, it might take me to bloody Wonderland. Let’s go back to Notting Hill, where it’s nice and boring,” Harry said.  
Ron laughed.  
Harry looked deeply into Ron’s ocean blue eyes.  
“Thank for going in there with me,” Harry said.  
Ron gave Harry a clap on the shoulder, and they all got in the car.

When they arrived back at the townhouse in Notting Hill, Hermione’s parents were cooking together.  
“You gave me an idea, lotus blossom: you mentioned ‘Much Ado About Nothing’, and I was thinking we could have a little movie marathon! Branagh’s ‘Much Ado…’, and Zeffirelli’s ‘Romeo and Juliet’,” Caroline Granger said.  
“Mummy, can we watch the Baz Luhrman one instead?” Hermione said.  
“Oh…well…fine,” Caroline sighed. “But Zeffirelli is so much more…timeless!”  
“Are these…films?” Pandora asked.  
Caroline smiled. “Why, yes! Do you like films? Hermione tells me that traditional wizard families generally do without technological novelties,” she said.  
“My uncle, Sirius, is very modern about all that,” Pandora said affectionately.  
“Oh, yes, he’s a lovely person. He gave Francis quite an education in Quidditch, and now he’s quite keen!” Caroline said. “Sirius and Harry have such a lovely bond. So, you’re his niece…which makes you Harry’s godsister…have you only just come to live with Sirius? Are your parents travelling? How is Hogwarts going?”  
“Caro, Caro, is this Scotland Yard?” Francis joked.  
“Oh, I’m sorry. Its just nice to see Mione making new friends! I want to know all about you, Pandora!” Caro said.  
Harry and Ron were lounging on the couch, watching football on Sky. Hermione said, “Mum, I’m going to show Dora my geode collection.”  
“Wonderful!” Caro said, and Dora and Hermione went to Hermione’s room.  
“I’m so sorry about my mum!” Hermione said.  
“Why? It’s only natural that she has questions, we have only just met!” Dora said.  
“Yes, but its what she really means by them,” Hermione said.  
“What do you mean?” Dora asked.  
“She’s trying to figure out your background. You’re a mixed-race girl, in a white family, and she’s trying to puzzle out how you get on: in your family, with others, and at Hogwarts. She thinks its just lovely we’ve met so that we can…be black together, I reckon,” Hermione ranted, and with a loud, exasperated exhale, she fell back onto her bed in a heap of legs and her big hair.  
“Oh…well….that’s certainly not the impression I got…can you explain a bit more?” Dora said, and lay beside Hermione.  
“Mum’s paranoid about diversity. She’s always worried that people will discriminate against me for being black in settings where not a lot of other people are,” Hermione said. “Its bloody smothering! She’s paranoid about racism, and about me not having anyone to relate with. I think its bollocks. I don’t need anyone’s permission or protection to be myself, and I relate just fine to people who are my real friends, and really care about me: they don’t have to look like me! She should know that, she married Dad, and anyone would say that they are from two different worlds, on the outside. When you know them…you see: they’re bloody soulmates, they finish each other’s sentences, they know each other’s thoughts.”  
Dora thought about Hermione’s words, and then said, “I can understand your mother’s concerns. I always suspected that the color of my skin, and the way that it made me stand out, was part of why the girls in the Vale never really allowed me into their circle. Boys acted as if it didn’t matter, because they wanted to marry me for the House of Black’s fortune…but, the girls were different. The only other person I ever knew with African blood is Blaise Zabini. I think it’s why he’s never been exactly unkind…in his mind, we have an understanding, I think. A kinship. And, perhaps we do, but it doesn’t mean he has a chance with me!”  
Hermione laughed. “Has he made a play?”  
“Oh, you know,” Dora said, dismissive of Blaise and his chances, then added, “But, Hermione…you’re very lucky, to have a mother…checking up on you, like that. I imagine she never really stops worrying about you. But, not because you’re black, and she is not-because you’re her daughter, and she’s your mother.”  
“Oh, Dora! Here I am, banging on about how overprotective my Mum is…” Hermione said.  
“To an orphan?” Pandora said. “No, no. That’s not the issue. I only mean, it may rub you a bit raw, but…that is the sign of very strong love.”  
Hermione hugged her.  
“Dora, thank you,” Hermione said.  
The girls went downstairs, as Caroline and Francis were serving dinner, a pasta dish with an Alfredo sauce, which everyone found delicious. While eating Greek yogurt with fruit for dessert, Francis, Caroline, and the kids watched “Much Ado About Nothing.”  
“Ah, Denzel…” Caroline sighed, of the handsome actor playing the noble prince.  
“I know, we could be twins,” Francis said, and Hermione laughed.  
As the movie went on, the Grangers laughed heartily at the Shakespearean humor, while Harry, Ron, and Dora were pleasantly baffled. Dora sat beside Hermione, Ron beside Harry on the loveseat. He and Dora had wordlessly decided after she was introduced to the Grangers as his godsister, it would be awkward to be seen cuddling or holding hands.  
After the film, everyone went up to bed. Hermione graciously Transfigured everyone’s clothes into pajamas. Harry and Ron were sorted in a guest room, Dora a guest bed that was pulled into Hermione’s room.  
Hermione read a bit of ‘Howard’s End’ by E.M. Forster, and Dora read a book that had been a favorite of her’s and Draco’s growing up, The Ramayana. She’d borrowed it from Dr. Lupin’s shelf, a humble and weathered paperback, so different from the issue at Malfoy Manor, bound in leather, with colored paper dyed in Italy sewn on the inside of the cover, and colorful illustrations of gods and demons, painted with crushed crystals.  
“Must have been a gift to some dead Malfoy who lived in India when Britain was an Empire,” Draco had told her. The library also had Kalidasa’s Sakuntala, the Bhagavad Gita and Mahabarata, and books about the Sanskrit language, so she figured he must be correct, and one of the Malfoys had spent time in India.  
In the Ramayana, the heroine Sita is a peerless beauty with a good heart, and follows her husband, the hero, Rama, into exile in a strange land. Pandora would never hesitate to follow Harry…but, she was a bit weary of traveling in general. This was the fifth new bed she had slept in: the Three Broomsticks, Severus’s living quarters, the Ravenclaw dorm, her Uncle Sirius’s house, now this Muggle house in Muggle London. Was Sita ever weary, as she, Rama, and his loyal brother, Lakshmana, trekked through the surreal, sometimes nightmarish, sometimes fairy tale lands of the Dandaka Vana? Pandora was tired, and not sure of where her home really was. Her uncle wanted it to be with him, and he was a kind man…would it be at Orchard Grange, when she and Harry grew up, and got married?  
Whatever home she created, she could never rewrite her life and have concerned, loving parents who were in love and told jokes and cooked dinner together, like Hermione had. She couldn’t live life over from childhood and have that. The past was decided-there was only the future, and what would be. Rather than uncertainty, she decided to accept this with hope.  
Pandora fell asleep reading, and woke up suddenly, surprised that she had been to sleep at all. In the scant light cast by Hermione’s nightligt, she saw a dark shape standing at Hermione’s window. It was the shadow of a man, with longish hair, in a dark cloak.  
Severus?! In Muggle London? In Hermione’s house? Had he come back to drink from her again, or to spirit her away from some perceived danger, convinced that Voldemort wanted the silphium in her blood? She reached under the bed for her wand, pointed it at the shape, and cast, “Lux!”  
It was not Severus. Dora held the light between her and the man in the dark cloak at the window, and the light was as bright and hot as a star between them. It was the living original of the photo in her father’s Hogwarts alumnus file: willowy and more delicate than his brother, Sirius, shoulder-length black hair, gray eyes like Dora’s own, angelic cheekbones and girlishly full and rosy lips, rendered hauntingly beautiful by his thoughtful expression. It was this picture that had appeared over the words, “Vampire. Sighted in Londinium. Do not make contact.”  
It was her father, Regulus Black. He looked scarcely older than Pandora.  
He held out his hand to her, and said, “Pandora, come with me.”


	57. Chapter 57

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lily, Robbie, and Severus reunite, hash out the past, and plan to protect Harry and Ginny; Hermione tries to defend Pandora

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and enjoy the new chapter. Stay safe and well:)

Robbie pulled away. “Shouldn’t’ve done that,” he muttered.  
“Robbie, no…” Severus said, and coaxed Robbie back with a gentle hand on his stubbled chin. Severus parted his legs, and Robbie came closer, standing on his knees on the couch. Their lips met again, and it was so familiar, it was as if those summer days in Cokeworth were just days before.   
But, no. Robbie wasn’t the painfully earnest, shaking boy he was then. He caressed Severus and languidly poured his tongue into Severus’s mouth like a natural lover, a practiced and skilled one. Severus caught a whiff of showmanship in Robbie’s hands and lips, as if he knew very well how 20 years of travel and other lovers had changed him, and wanted his old friend to know it, too.   
“Well, I didn’t know we were having company over,” said a breathy, female American voice. Robbie pulled away, and Severus saw a woman with black hair, green eyes, a curvy figure, and an odd assortment of clothes-a crop top, yoga pants, a belly dancer’s sarong, and a feather boa around her arms-standing before them looking chagrinned and bemused.  
“Wina, you remember Sev,” Robbie said.  
“Hmm….do I? Oh, right, the defector! You flipped on Voldemort, and narced about the Phoenix Consurgens prophecy,” Wina said.  
“You’re Robbie’s wife,” Severus said.  
He had forgotten about her existence, but now he was forcefully reminded of her grating presence in Order of the Phoenix meetings: big, supermodel hair, Azzedine Alaia minidresses, more suited to a heavy metal music video or Miami nightclub than fighting a sectarian magical war. He found her name ridiculous, Belwina Whitethorn, like one of Tennessee Williams’ hard luck Southern Belles from a melodramatic play.   
“They have a son,” Lily had informed him, then. He would be around Harry’s age, now.  
“Ex-wife,” she said adamantly. “Well, long time, no see…but, I heard you left Scotland.”  
“Er, yes,” Severus said, for lack of a desire to explain his absence.  
“Sev had an accident. I healed him up,” Robbie explained.   
Severus had not noticed, but the pain in his leg had cleared up. What had Robbie done? Truly, he had become the shamans he had always admired in old books…if shamans hacked airline websites for first class plane tickets and wore Burberry procured through black market channels.   
“With your lips?” his former wife said skeptically. Severus wondered why they still lived together.   
“No! Not with my bloody lips! You put nothing past me, do you?” Robbie demanded.  
“I’ve known you too long. I’ll leave you two to your reunion. I was giving a private lesson via web cam,” Belwina said, and elaborated, “I teach a Burlesque For Empowerment class”  
Severus didn’t know what to say, but Belwina was satisfied with his silence, and flounced out of the room, back to her web cam.  
“What a unique individual,” Severus said.  
“Don’t buy the Betty Boop routine, she’s a snake. But, she’s a snake I’m used to,” Robbie said.  
“A pet snake,” Severus suggested.   
“The devil I know. Suppose I’m being too hard on her. She insists she was doing the best she could by Little Robbie, hiding him the way she did from her sister. But, I hate what she did, Sev. I just want to know my son,” Robbie said. “he could be up at Hogwarts, I could be waking him in the face every day and wouldn’t know it.”  
“As small consolation as this will inevitably be, knowing his face would be worse,” Severus said.  
“Ah, Jesus, Sev…” Robbie said, exhaling deeply. “I didn’t mean…of course…Ginny. You been seein’ her every day for five years. How do you stand it?”  
“I knew, when I accepted the position as Potion and Alchemy Master, I would, barring the possibility that Rose’s Muggle ancestry on both my side and Lily’s rendered her a Squib, meet her again, here. I left her with a Wizarding family, albeit a humble one. I knew that a young girl by the name Weasley, with a smile and red hair like her mother’s, would come up to the castle in time. And, so it was. Ginevra Weasley-a talented, but modest, hardworking student, a quiet little girl with a small circle of friends, who neither appeals for attention nor makes trouble. She is better left as she is…and I can take no special notice of her. To see her is balm and poison,” Severus said.  
“She’s smart as a whip. She wants to work in Coven affairs, did you know that?” Robbie said.  
This took Severus legitimately by surprise. “What? She likes Potions, and animals, and sport…” he said. He assumed, with her natural talent at Potions, his daughter would be a Healer, like her adoptive mother Molly Weasley.   
“Yeah, well, she came to McGonagall’s office when I was in there, asked to be put in Political Science courses,” Robbie said. “and, she’s got opinions, she cares about things-just like Lil.”  
“God forbid. Lily’s convictions derailed her life, and got her killed. She could have been the greatest witch of our age, Headmistress of Hogwarts one day, if she hadn’t let James Potter drag her into his delusions of grandeur, of fighting a just and glorious war for Truth, Justice, and the Gryffindor way,” Severus said with a sneer.  
Robbie’s blue and brown eyes regarded him with searing disapproval.   
“You had your ideals too, back then, didn’t ya? At least me, Remus, and Lil were on the right side of things, from the beginning,” Robbie said.  
“The only side of things you’re on is the one that keeps you entertained. You thought the war would be interesting, so you asked a few old friends to get you in on the action,” Severus accused. “You’d abandoned us long before.”  
“Abandoned? You were the one who replaced me, and Lily, and Remus! With Ada, with Mulciber and Avery and that lot, with Voldemort! We were never enough!” Robbie said.  
“Enough,” came Lily’s soothing voice, and this scene was as familiar as Robbie’s kiss, Lily’s sweet, soft, motherly voice cutting through the discord. But Severus hadn’t heard that voice in 14 years, not since that day on Orcas Island.   
“Lily?” he asked and turned around.   
There she was, his best friend, his lover, the little girl he had found crying on the playground, his first kiss, the mother of his only child… and if he had not discovered her lifeless body himself and hopelessly cradled it he would never have known that she was not alive and well. Her skin was the same, fair and lustrous with a slight hint of roses, her hair was a dazzling cinnamon auburn that spun the light into waves of fire, her eyes a jewel-like green, her mouth slightly too delicate for her strong face, the face of a Celtic queen who had defied the Romans, or a goddess who had chosen the slain from the battlefield. Lily was the kind of woman whose beauty inspired not base lust but immediate notice and veneration. Though she was a ghost, Severus could feel her magic as he’d always been able to-it was warm, smelled like apples, and felt like music.   
“Lily, how can this be…?” he asked, and reached for her, to gather her in his arms and hold her close to him.  
She held up her hand. “No-I’ll scatter. It’s taking a lot of energy to be this solid, and I don’t think I could do it if Jamie wasn’t helping me. Sev…what are you, now?”  
“A Ghoul,” he answered. “Lily…after you died, I returned to England, to London, to Regulus Black’s side. I had no idea how his sanity had deteriorated, the nature of his experiments. He was performing all manner of dark experiments with obscure and dangerous substances to bring our Ada back to life. One of them was the blood of a vampire. The fool had only himself, naturally, to experiment on, and made himself a vampire quite by accident. When I came to 12, Grimmauld Place, he was not expecting a visitor, and, disordered and fearful, he attacked me. His bite made me his servant, and so I have been for many years.”  
“So, this was after you left Rose with the midwife, Molly’s, family?” Lily said, folding her arms, and looking at him formidably.   
“Yes,” he confirmed.  
Lily sighed. “I was shocked, when I realized that you had given her away…that she had a new name, a new family, she had no idea who I was, who Harry was…Sev, do you realize that at one point, she thought she was in love with Harry? Her own brother!”  
“She’s an innocent. She couldn’t have known,” Severus said.  
“No, but you created that situation when you abandoned her, and you perpetuated her ignorance every day that you graded her lessons and lectured her class and never told her that you are her father, I’m her mother, and Harry is her brother. I should be furious with you! God knows, I was…” Lily said. “But, I can’t let myself be distracted like that. Harry needs to know the truth, and Rosie’s in trouble. And Sev…I don’t want you to die; not like that….not that way…”  
“What way? Lily, speak plain. Ghosts do appear to the living for annunciations, don’t they? Dithering should be quite against your natural inclination,” Severus said.  
“Oh, don’t you start,” Lily said. “Robbie knows what I’m talking about.”  
“Then would one of you be gracious enough to deign to enlighten me?” Severus said.  
“Look, you prat, we’re trying!” Robbie said. “Harry’s been attacked mentally by Voldemort, more than once. He was attacked by Succubi in the school showers…”  
“Oh, dear. I suppose such a large population of pubescent wizards is bound to draw that particular dark creature. Remus is good with banishing that sort of thing, and naturally he would be quite immune to the charms of a female sex demon. Now, an incubus might trip him up…” Severus said.  
“You knocking Remus for liking blokes not an hour after kissing me?” Robbie said warningly.  
Lily pointedly ignored Severus’s defensive sarcasm, and Robbie’s indignation, and said, “And then he had a dream. Sirius-I love him, and his heart is in the right place-but, he sort of gave Harry misinformation…”  
Severus rolled his eyes. “Why do my misfortunes begin and end with the Black brothers? Truly, their House is cursed!”  
“Look, when I left the Vale, and went to see Sirius and Alphard at the Molly house for forged documents…I sort of let Sirius think I had been pregnant at the time Jamie died, and Rosie was Jamie’s daughter,” Lily said. “It was what he assumed, and it seemed to give him some comfort over Jamie dying, and I needed his help. Egresses were blocked from being opened by the wards Riddle had placed around all of England, the only way out was to take the Faerie Ocean Between Realms, and sailing interdimensionally like that is dangerous, a ship can be lost for centuries. Sirius and Al made it their business to know which ships and captains were reliable, and I didn’t think he’d trust me if he knew that you and I had been lovers. He would have seen it as a betrayal of Jamie. He was the only person who ever saw the good in Sirius like that, he was doggedly loyal to Jamie, you must understand…”  
“Perhaps displaying his capacity for anything like ‘good’ would have won more universal belief in his redeemability,” Severus said. “All right, so Black wanted to believe that though Potter had died, he lived on in his son and his new daughter. He helped you to secure passage on the Faerie ocean to America. Is this accurate?”  
Lily nodded. “Like I said, I didn’t tell Siry that you and I were lovers, but I did tell him I’d hid with you, and you cared for me,” she said. “He set up a connection for me with an indigenous werewolf tribe that Remus had studied natural remedies for his lycanthropy with. They helped me create a safehouse for me, and my babies. I know you didn’t mean to lead the Death Eaters to us, Sev…and, maybe I should have included you in my plans.”  
“Maybe?!” Severus snapped acidly.  
“I regret cutting you out, but it was to protect you, too. The less you knew, the less you could be tortured to confess. You could always put it down to a case of a faithless woman playing you for a dupe, taking your kid…” Lily said. “I was trying to protect everyone, and I failed everyone.”  
“Don’t blame yourself, Lil. Its Voldemort who was trying to murder a two-year-old, for Christ’s sakes,” Robbie said. She gave him a sad, but grateful smile.  
Lily continued her story, “Sirius got the idea that you betrayed me to Voldemort. He told Harry this, and before you start in, I think it was rash of him to do so. In any case, now Harry believes that you betrayed me…and Voldemort has been whispering to him that he must kill you to set my soul free from torment. He’s trying to gain purchase in Harry’s soul, and he knows killing you will rend his soul. Taking a life damages you irreparably…and creates vulnerable spots for dark magic and dark influence. He wants my baby. He wants to control him.”  
“Harry wants to kill me?” Severus said.   
He knew they would never be close. The young man Harry had grown into was not the squirmy, giggly toddler Severus had cared for alongside Lily for a year in the Vale. Harry had spent time in an orphanage, and seethed with distrust around most adults, except those openly allied to Dumbledore, or whom he knew had been friends of his parents’ during the war years. Harry, it seemed, always had half an eye on who he could count on in a fight, and Severus understood and respected that. He had purposefully done all he could to make sure Harry was never endeared to him, so that he could not fail him again…but, the idea that he wanted to murder him was laughable. Damn Sirius Black, shooting his mouth off…Damn Lily, still thinking like a Phoenix operative instead of a mother, and running off in a double cross with their children….  
“See it from Harry’s point of view, mate. From his lookout, you killed his mum, and maybe his sister, and you’ve been a right nunce when it comes to his girlfriend,” Robbie said.  
“I am not a pervert!! I…thought I desired Pandora, but I was under immense mental and physical strain, resisting Regulus’s entreaties to kidnap her, and it affected my memory and perception of reality. I thought she was Ada…” Severus said.   
“Sev, you couldn’t have thought she was Ada the whole time,” Lily said.  
“She looks so like her…but gentler. Where Ada was a wildfire, Pandora can, at times, be a hearth. And…girls, in the Vale, sometimes marry younger than 16. She will soon be of age. I was prepared to wait, if that was her wish,” Severus said. “But, my feelings for her mother and my strained physical state confused things, they were a factor in my actions….”  
Robbie looked disgusted, “Bloody hell, Sev…” he said in dismay.  
Lily sighed and shook her head. “You’ve been in that Pureblood world too long, Sev. You think like them, now, and maybe you were trying to fight that, as much as you were fighting Regulus’s influence. Look, I love you, I always will, you know that. You showed me what magic was, and you’re Rosie’s dad. But, nothing Harry knows about you inspires affection. Quite the opposite. Why were you such a git to him in class?”  
Severus exhaled heavily. “So that he would never love me. It seems I succeeded thoroughly,” he said.  
“We have to tell Harry the truth, before he does something to hurt Sev and ruins his life, his soul. How long can a 16 year old boy hold out against a dark wizard? I can’t wait until he’s 17, and me and Jamie are allowed to talk to him in a Visitation,” Lily said. “and, there’s Rosie…she’s in trouble…”  
“How?” Severus said, with a frantic edge. The last time his daughter had been ‘in trouble’, she had nearly been killed by the bite of a basilisk. He’d thought playing Quidditch would keep her out of trouble…  
“Voldemort possessed her,” Lily said. “And tried to use her body to kill Harry.”  
Severus said nothing, but his face was redolent with shock. First a basilisk, now the Dark Lord himself…. Had he given up being in her life for nothing? He’d thought that the loving atmosphere of the Weasleys’ home would give her an idyllic childhood, a happy life, as different from his childhood of violence and tension as night was to day. She would be safe and loved, as he never was, until he created a life with his friends, and she would grow up surrounded by magic and never be taunted about being a witch the way Lily had been…he was sure that Rose would have a better childhood than either of them, and the content, studious little girl he’d taught at Hogwarts seemed to have confirmed that he’d made the right choice.   
“How did I hear nothing of this?” Severus said.  
“Because it happened the week Albus dismissed you,” Lily said.  
“That…was not what it seemed. He was legitimately displeased with my…attentions, towards Pandora…but he sent me away from Hogwarts to stay abreast of Regulus. He wants to kidnap Pandora to protect her from Voldemort, in case Voldemort finds my mentor, Flamel, and tortures him into admitting he gave me, Ada, and Regulus the silphium to save Dora’s life. Regulus wants Dora, who has the silphium in her blood, and the Lapis,” Severus said.  
“Good God…” Lily lamented. “What’s Voldemort want silphium for?”  
“Many uses…but, if Regulus’s skulking has yielded any reliable intel, the Dark Lord is ill, and needs regeneration,” Severus said.   
Lily gasped. “Harry…could that be why he wants Harry? To possess him…? To steal his body, and act through him, the way he did Rosie…?” she said. She composed herself, and said, “This is why they need to know the truth.”  
Robbie’s handsome face was grave. “I’ll call Remus. We need to figure out how to sort this, together.”

“Pandora, come with me…” whispered the vampire, and Pandora got out of bed at once. She pulled back the covers, and the paperback Ramayana fell to the floor with a slap. He held out his hand, and Pandora reached for it with her own.  
Then, the room flooded with light from Hermione’s bedside lamp.   
“Incarcerous!” Hermione cast, and Dora fell to the bedroom floor as ropes bound her, stopping her from taking the vampire’s hand.  
“Get away from her!” Hermione said.  
“Go back to sleep, little girl,” the Vampire said softly, a note of power, of compulsion, beneath his words.  
“Repellere Vampire!” she cast, the incantation that Professor Fortune had taught them in class to ward away Vampires and Ghouls.  
Nothing seemed to happen.   
“I’ve still just enough magic to resist that one…but, an admirable effort. You couldn’t have known,” Regulus said. “Now, sleep.”  
Hermione fell asleep in an abrupt heap, as Regulus gathered his daughter into his arms and flew out of the open window, into the sky over London.   
Summoned by the sound of shouting and falling bodies, Harry and Ron burst into Hermione’s room.   
“Dora!” Harry cried, as Ron’s eyes widened and he blanched at the sight of an unconscious Hermione, and he hurried to crouch at her side and check her pulse. Harry’s distress was divided between his inert best friend, and the shape of Regulus Black getting smaller and smaller against the city sky. He could not fly after him, he could only watch, powerless. 

Robbie sent an owl to Remus asking him to come to his home through the portal at Hagrid’s, and went up to fill Hagrid in.  
“Lily, I’m sorry,” Severus said, when it was just the two of them.   
He remembered her earlier warning about scattering her ghostly energy, but he wanted so badly to take her hand, and hug her. The love he felt for Lily was too old to be clearly defined. She was beautiful, he would have to be blind not to be attracted to her…but he didn’t feel the need to make her his, the way he did with Ada and Robbie. He knew as well as his own name that they would always be connected, even if they disagreed fundamentally. He thrived in Dark magic, she in Light, and maybe it was one of the mysteries of magic that Lily’s husband loved to study that it was so, that he would be drawn to his very opposite, and she the same. They were more than a love affair, or a friendship-Lily was his twin in soul.   
He looked deep into her green eyes, and saw that she felt the same.  
“Sev, I know. I wish I had done things differently, too,” she admitted. “Jamie tells me not to beat myself up, I did the best I could…but, I know I could be headstrong and too independent, when I was alive. After a while…I started to think I could do it all on my own, that that’s what I should do, that only I really knew what was best for Harry and Rosie. I thought that’s what it meant to be a good mother. But, they need more than me.”  
Robbie rushed through the fireplace, looking distressed. “I gotta go up to the castle,” Robbie said. “Pandora’s been kidnapped, in London! They reckon it’s Regulus! Dumbledore told Hagrid to fetch me.”  
“Yes, of course; is Harry all right?” Lily asked.  
“Him, Ron, and Hermione-he just took Dora, and Hermione got a look at him and spoke to him, he compelled her. It’s Regulus, she said it was him,” Robbie said.  
“I’ll come with you,” Lily said. “Sev, wait here.”  
Robbie went through the fireplace once more, and Lily disappeared in a wave of light.   
Severus was hit with a wave of energy.   
“Ghoul, come to me,” said the Vampire, and against his will Severus turned into the Raven, and flew to his Master’s side.


	58. Chapter 58

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus and Sirius search for Dora; Dora learns the truth; Regulus faces Dora's questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone reading and thanks for CurrerJean's help. To quote the Tragically Hip, this was a long time coming, and well worth the wait

“Oh, that’s your Serious Sirius face-what are you reading?” Remus said.  
Sirius was sitting in his favorite chair in their shared home office, a wingbacked corduroy chair by the fireplace. He was reading some papers. Remus leaned over and kissed Sirius’s cheek.  
Sirius gave him a warm, loving smile and hugged him.  
“It’s a letter from Draco. He’s quite the spy-a great memory and eye for detail,” Sirius said.  
“How goes his mission at Malfoy Manor?” Remus said.  
“Well, Lucius’s mistress has the run of the place, and has turned it into a den of iniquity. Our old friend Pyrite is back in effect, and as cozy with the boss as ever…the Volva are most definitely by his side, as well: Ostara Munin, and Freya Hugin,” Sirius said. “He’s got Charm Detectors and Curse Breakers, looking for an artifact called the Wand of Honorius…and he’s also definitely looking for Perrier Flamel. They rounded up Hypatia Orellana last week, she escaped.”  
“The Wand of Honorius…I can’t say I’ve ever heard of it. It must be quite Dark,” Remus said. “Quite a thorough report.”  
“He’s done his bit; I think it’s time to pull him out. He insisted on trying to right his father’s wrongs, and I thought he’d be irrevocably despondent not to have a chance to restore his father’s honor,” Sirius said. “But, he’s just a boy…”  
“Like Regulus,” Remus said. “I know Draco reminds you of him.”  
“They’re so young. All of them. Harry, Dora, Draco, Lucy, Ron, Hermione…were we so young? We thought we were talented and on the side of right, and that we would win,” Sirius said.  
“We did win. We just didn’t know that you lose things even when you win. And, we’ll win again,” Remus said.  
Their attention was drawn to the window, at which a brown owl pecked, bearing a letter.  
“I’ll get it,” Remus said, opened the window, and accepted the letter.  
He opened it, and instantly recognized Robbie Fortune’s handwriting. Remus had hoped that he and his old friend would have more time to reconnect, but Robbie was busy with teaching, and Remus had the tavern, the antique shop, the children, and now the Bear Hunter pack. The note read,  
“We need to talk. All four of us…”  
Four? Robbie was a natural born Necromancer…was he saying that he had made contact with Lily?  
Before Remus could tell Sirius about Robbie’s note, Sirius’s cell phone rang, and he slipped it out of his waistcoat pocket.  
“Hello? Caroline! Hello, dear,” he said warmly, but as he listened, his expression turned grave.

Harry was surprised at how readily the Grangers believed that a Vampire had broken into their home, but then he recalled that they had digested that their daughter was a witch-they were pretty openminded people.  
“Mione, breathe, darling,” Caroline said, “Anuloma Viloma, dear.”  
Hermione nodded, and covered her nostrils with her fingers alternatingly as she breathed.  
“I think you should call Sirius,” Mr. Granger said to Mrs. Granger, who went to their bedroom to retrieve her mobile.  
“Boys,” Mr. Granger said, “Hermione told us everything she saw. Do you have anything to add? Is there anything you know that might explain what happened here tonight?”  
“The Vampire…I think he’s Dora’s father,” Harry said. “Dora’s parents really were Alchemists…but, they died when she was a baby. At least, her mum did, and she thought her dad died, too, but she found out a few days ago that he’s a Vampire.”  
Caroline Granger strode through the room hurriedly, still on the phone presumably with Sirius, and her eyes flew to Harry as he spoke. “Harry just said….Here, I’ll put him on. Faster for you to Egress here? Oh, okay, is there anything me and Francis have to do?”  
Mrs. Granger received her answer when Sirius and Remus stepped through an Egress in her living room.  
“Francis, mate! Caro, darling!” Sirius said gratefully. “we hate to intrude like this, Remus and I.”  
“Its an emergency, Sirius, its quite all right,” Francis said. He turned to the kids, and said, “All right, take us through today. Time is of the essence.”  
“Well…things kind of started before today. See, Snape gave Dora this old Alchemy book called the Emerald Tablet, that belonged to her mum,” Ron said. “Some of it was in Cypher, a secret code Dora’s mum made up. Mione translated it, and we found out about this secret experiment Dora’s mum, dad, and Snape had done when she was a baby, to save her life. So, to find out more about her parents we stole their alumni files…”  
“You stole from the Records Office?” Remus said, incredulously.  
“We…put the files back,” Hermione said sheepishly.  
“The file said that Dora’s dad is a vampire, and not to make contact with him,” Harry said.  
“Its been a busy year, eh, kids?” Francis said.  
“Hermione! Is translating Alchemy texts and stealing school property going to get you into Percival College? Neeve was gracious enough to come over this summer and outline exactly what standard you need to maintain in your N.E.WT. years to be Percival material, and of course Daddy and I are Oxford alumni, but you can’t bet all your money on that, Hermione Jean Granger!” Caroline Granger said.  
Harry had not suspected such sternness beneath the casually dropped Sanskrit salutations and Yoga beads-but, she was Hermione’s mother, after all, and she must have come by her iron will honestly.  
“Mum, there’s a war coming, who cares about Uni? If Voldemort strikes, I’m not going to sit by at bloody Oxford and do nothing!” Hermione said heatedly. “what good will marks and degrees be if we live in the grip of a tyrant?!”  
Caroline looked furious, and was about to say something in return when Francis gently cut in, “What’s done is done, and we can talk about the merits of Oxford later. For now, we have to find Dora. So, the Vampire is her father.”  
“My brother,” Sirius said, and it dawned on Harry that Sirius had just learned that his brother had not been dead, these fifteen years. “My brother is alive, and a Vampire, and kidnapped his own daughter…”  
“That’s impossible. The red chord…it’s gone! Its been gone for over a decade! How could Regulus still live?” Remus said.  
“Maybe the chords only connect wizards. When he became a Dark Creature…” Sirius theorized.  
“I, too, am a Dark Creature, am I not?” Remus said.  
“But, perhaps vampires and werewolves cannot…oh, bugger it, Jamie was the one who liked to sort magical mysteries. We haven’t time for that, and I’m no bloody good at it,” Sirius said gruffly. He was anxious, Harry realized.  
“Sirius, I know its quite sudden, learning that your brother is alive, but is there anywhere you can think of that he would take Pandora? A family property, perhaps…?” Francis theorized.  
A lightbulb came on in Sirius’s face. “12, Grimmauld Place! Our family home! Its been derelict for years, since Mother and Father died. I was thinking of opening it up, but I haven’t looked in on the place…it’s not far, Islington.”  
“Islington?!” Caroline said, with a surprised, relieved laugh. “Oh, thank God! Dora could be just fifteen minutes away! Shall we take the car?”  
“Er, I hate to be indelicate, you two, but…given that you can’t do magic, confronting a Vampire might be more Sirius’s and my purview,” Remus said kindly.  
“Right-we’ll stay here,” Francis said.  
Harry, Ron, and Hermione readied their wands, but Sirius said, “Oh, no you don’t! Stealing files, translating ancient books, and I have a feeling History of Magic had nothing to do with your little day trip to Stone Henge.”  
“We never actually made it to Stone Henge, we stopped at the Uffington chalk horse,” Harry said.  
“I don’t care!” Sirius snapped. “This isn’t a game, Harry! Can’t you see that? Dora is gone, Harry! My niece is gone! Shouldn’t that be enough to show you that the forces we’re up against are serious?”  
Guilt doused Harry like cold water, and he couldn’t meet Sirius’s eyes, gray eyes like Dora’s, for shame. He had promised to protect her, even if that meant stepping back from his romantic feelings for her, but in practice, he had taken no steps to do so. He liked going on investigations with her, confiding in her and having her confide in him, he liked getting out of tight spots with her, and he had encouraged her and allowed Ron and Hermione to do the same, taking their leads from him. He shouldn’t have let things get so far…  
“I’m sorry, Sirius,” Harry said, and when his voice came out of his mouth, it wasn’t his own, it was thin and light, childish, a dumb kid’s voice.  
Sirius’s face softened, and he looked shocked at himself for speaking to Harry like that.  
“You’re not coming with us to Grimmauld Place, Harry. Just stay here,” he said, sounding tired.  
Remus looked at Harry with a gentle expression that promised they would talk later, then he and Sirius stepped back through the Egress in the living room.  
That dismissive ‘just stay here’ felt worse than being shouted at. As if he, Harry, had done quite enough, and needed to just sit quietly with his hands at his sides, while the grownups sorted his mess.  


When Dora woke from the Vampire’s trance, her memory of leaving the Notting Hill townhouse with him was like one of the films she had watched in the last weeks: a series of moving pictures that had played before her, not events she had lived. But, when she looked at his face, there was no doubt that he was her father, Regulus Black. When the Vampire looked at her, his pale face was suffused with a smile of love and awe.  
“Do you like your room, Pandora?” he asked.  
She looked around. It was a nice room for an emptyheaded young Pureblood girl; all the trappings of a well born young witch’s girlhood were present: a music box that played a delicate melody, a bed with a canopy and coverlet trimmed in lace, a large mirror, shelves with romantic novels by Mrs. Featherstone, and, when Dora opened the closet, she found finely tailored day dresses, walking dresses, tea dresses, and gowns for dinners and assemblies. Her father had planned for her coming for a long time, but around the generic idea of who a girl was, who all girls must be, who she must be because she was a girl.  
“Kreacher quite outdid himself in preparing for your arrival,” Regulus added, and gestured to the elderly house elf at his side.  
At the Manor, her Aunt Cissy preferred Squib servants-she liked a human touch. But, Draco had once told her, ‘Hogwarts is crawling with House Elves. If you look them in the eye and thank them, they’ll do you all sorts of favors.’  
Dora looked into Kreacher’s rheumy eyes and said, “Thank you ever so much, Kreacher. Everything is so lovely!”  
Regulus seemed touched. Kreacher’s sour features softened, and he bowed to Dora, and said, “Kreacher is glad that Mistress Pandora is pleased.”  
She could tell that he meant it with all of his heart. She dared to kiss the top of his head, and when he looked up, his eyes were watery, but he was fixing his mouth into a firm line to hold back his emotion. Dora’s heart was genuinely warmed. He was a captive, like her, really.  
“Kreacher, Pandora has had a long day. Go to the kitchen, and prepare her some chamomile tea,” Regulus said. Kreacher disappeared.  
“He is very old. You should let him rest. He can’t tend to this whole house by himself,” Pandora said.  
“Oh, Kreacher would be offended if I did that. He takes great pride in his work. But, it is touching that his plight concerns you. Really, his duties have been quite light, with only my needs to look after. Caring for a bachelor is different to caring for a family,” Regulus said.  
“Oh, a family, is that what we are?” Dora drawled caustically.  
“Of course that’s what we are, Pandora,” Regulus sighed. “I know that you must have many questions about why we could not be together.”  
“No, truly, I have none. The subject doesn’t interest me,” Pandora said coldly.  
“Now, Pandora, how are we to get on if you behave that way?” Regulus said, with an imitation of boundless patience that she knew would wear thin soon.  
“Then let me go,” she said.  
“That’s not possible. The Dark Lord is weak now, cursed and suffering, which you would assume gives us time…but, no. He will grow ever more desperate with each passing day, and drive his servants hard to find Master Flamel,” Regulus said.  
Pandora had devoted so much time to translating the Tabula, and Professor Flamel’s sudden appearance at Hogwarts had been such a shock to her, she forgot that she was meant to be making her father feel worthless, and her curiosity got the best of her.  
“Why does the Dark Lord seek him?” she asked.  
“Because he is the greatest living Alchemist on Earth, he can cure anything. Magic is not so different from chemistry, Pandora-it is a series of chain reactions. I am sure you know of the slaughter of the Phoenix Consurgens boys, the boys born under the Sign of the Phoenix, on its ascendant day, when a comet passed-one among them was prophesied to grow up to be a greater wizard than he. To commit one murder rends a wizard’s soul…to commit a massacre of innocents such as that, has caused his body and soul a torturous corruption,” Regulus said. “he seeks an alchemist to cure him with rare materials.”  
“And, you think that if he captures Flamel he will find out that he gave you and Mother the silphium, to save me? And, he’ll want to harvest it from my blood?” Pandora said.  
“Severus told you far too much,” Regulus said.  
At the mention of Snape, Dora lost her patience once more. “Severus told me nothing! He has been about as much use to me as you have been:none! None! Did you send him to my side? Did you insert him into my life? Why do you hide from me?! Why did you not come yourself?”  
He looked uncomfortable and his aristocratic mask of unperturbable placidity shaken with discomfort. It looked like he was having a stomach movement. Pandora wished that she felt guilty for her outburst, but she was tired of all the things that she did not know appearing into her life like a specter. Her father was alive and living in his childhood home and lying to everyone. How could she trust him? Who could trust him?  
“Pandora,” Regulus said, “You must listen to me. It matters not when I came for you, I am here now.”  
“Actually, it does matter.” Pandora said with a sharpness that surprised even her. “You see, while you were spinning a web of lies I was growing up as an orphan in a world that values familial lineage over all. I was not unwanted; I would never claim that, for my Aunt and Uncle love me. But I was alone, and my aloneness is something that you will never be able to fathom or take away. I have lived for years believing that I killed my mother at my birth and that my father hated me so much for it that he killed himself.”  
“Pandora, no!” Regulus’ composure cracked.  
He was not an aristocrat or a paterfamilias or even an heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. He was just a man full of sorrow and regret trying to put together the pieces of a broken life. “I do love you!”  
“Don’t!” Pandora snapped. “Don’t say something so important and not mean it!”  
Regulus rose and reached out to Pandora. Pandora did not evade his touch. How could she? She had dreamed of her mother, thought so much of what she might think of her and what they would do together. Regulus had just been a constant ache, like a horrible truth in life she would just have to accept. Her father had not been able to live for her, but she had wanted him to. His hands on her shoulders were a solid presence, but they were cold. As cold as the dead.  
“I did love you. I loved you and your mother, but I have never been a strong man. I’ve never been a strong anything. It was always your mother who was strong and Severus who was thoughtful, and I… I challenged them because sometimes they were too lofty, too… experimental. I was their reason. We were good together. A family. But the wrong sort. We got it all wrong. We could have been better but…” Regulus stopped. He looked at Pandora. “We loved you. So, we knew we had to do everything in our power to save you, our baby made of love. That’s all. We just wanted to love you.”  
Pandora began to weep. Regulus held her. This was her father. Not either of her uncles, not Severus. Every other man had been a substitute. This was her father, and that truth crested and broke again and again like unceasing waves.  
Kreacher came with her tea, and Regulus and Dora broke apart. She took a sip, and it was the most superb chamomile blend she had ever tasted: light, floral, sweetened with a wonderful mint and citrus infused honey. Once again, Dora thanked Kreacher heartily, and as he went back to his other duties he looked much sprier than when she had arrived.  
“You put me to shame, daughter; you’ve given Kreacher a new lease on life. This house has been lacking youth, and a feminine touch,” Regulus said.  
Daughter. No one had ever called her that before. She had been a niece, but never a daughter.  
“Father, I cannot stay,” she said. “I must return to Uncle Sirius’s house…but, you can come with me! He must know that you live, Father! He will be so happy.”  
Regulus laughed sadly. “I doubt it. We never got on.”  
“He speaks of you with love. He says that you were clever, brilliant, a great wizard. It’s true!” Pandora insisted.  
“Well, then Remus is a good influence on him, and your uncle has changed greatly with age,” Regulus said.  
“We are all that is left of our House, the House of Black…can we not try to come together?” Pandora asked. “You, Uncle Sirius, and I?”  
“Pandora, I am not particularly interested in my brother. I live only for you. We need to get you to safety. It is only a matter of time before Voldemort locates Master Flamel, and formidable as he is, the Dark Lord has ways of making people talk. He will find out about the great favor Master Flamel did your mother and I, giving us the silphium to save you. Then, he will want your blood to cure his affliction. We must get you to Heliopolis before then,” Regulus said.  
“Heliopolis…Mother wrote about it. You and she sent Severus there, to get the seeds. What is it?” Pandora said.  
Severus appeared at Regulus’s side, like a shadow that poured into the form of a man and said, “It is another realm, the City of Alchemists. Legend has it that phoenixes were hatched there-ergo, a fitting place for the mecca of the pursuit of immortality.”  
“Severus! It’s true! You are my father’s ghoul! Harry told me that I could not trust you!” Pandora said.  
“Yes, well, Harry would say that,” Severus said glumly. “I have heard his low opinion of me has devolved to murderous intent.”  
“You betrayed his mother to the Dark Lord!” Pandora accused.  
Severus’s habitual mode of scholarly detachment gave way to a perturbed expression. “It sounds like you and your Gryffindor friends have been playing detective. I can excuse Granger, Potter, and Weasley their erratic success at it, but I taught you the scientific method myself. Think empirically!” he said.  
“Evidence suggests that you are not trustworthy,” Dora said.  
“Lily was my dearest friend. I loved her. I did pursue her after she ran off, with Harry and Rose. Your Uncle Lucius, that bewigged buffoon, passed our cottage on his daily horseback ride, and it spooked her. Unbeknownst to me, she started planning her escape. She made contact with your other uncle, Sirius-forgery was his vocation at that time,” he said, and in a bitter aside, said, sarcastically, “A noble usage for the art of Transfiguration.”  
“It was noble! He helped people escape Voldemort!” Pandora said.  
“At any rate, he gave her the necessary documents to leave Britain, with Harry and Rose. I found her in Washington, on the West Coast of the United States. I tried to entreat her to come away with me, to convince her that the children would be safer if we protected them together…but Death Eaters followed me there. Lily….she…we…fought them, but…she was hit, she…I was knocked unconscious. When I came to, Lily was dead, Harry was taken, and I had only Rose, my daughter,” Severus said.  
“Your daughter? Rose was your daughter? Where is she?” Pandora asked.  
“Hogwarts,” Severus answered, but in a tone that suggested he would not speak of this matter any further. He continued, “There. I owe you nothing, and I have told you everything. Do you trust me? I wronged you, Pandora. I thought I was in love with you in all the wrong ways, for all the wrong reasons, and I gave little consideration to your feelings. That does not change the fact that you are in danger of the Dark Lord finding out about the silphium in your blood.”  
“You will be safe in Heliopolis. We are both alchemists of the Emerald Order, Severus and I. The realm is bound to give us sanctuary in times of need,” Regulus said.  
“Are you sure it will admit you? Severus, you were a Death Eater, and Father, you are a Vampire! And me, I am not an Alchemist yet. What if the realm refuses us?” Pandora said.  
“No. No, I assure you, Daughter, you will have sanctuary. We will leave in the morning. I cannot do magic any longer. The Dark Curse which makes me a Vampire inhibits magic. But, Severus will open the Egress to Heliopolis,” Regulus said. A smile played at his lips, and his eyes softened, as he added, “Tomorrow is your birthday, Daughter.”  
“I had quite forgotten!” Pandora said.  
It was true. She was so consumed with settling into Hogwarts, the mysteries of the Manticore, and Harry’s vision, that she had not thought of her 17th birthday’s approach.  
“How fitting it is, that we are all together, as we were when your life began. Only your mother is missing, Pandora. But, you know…I often feel her, by my side. And I hear her voice. It is as if she calls to me,” Regulus said.  
Pandora was uncomfortable. She felt as if her father had one foot in the land of the living, the other in the realm of the dead.  
“Tomorrow, we will extract the Lapis from my family’s Vault-I am sure Pandora’s plight will move the Order of Trismegistus, but it does not hurt to bring tribute,” Regulus said. “Come, my old friend. Dora must rest.”  
“No! Don’t keep me here! Let me go!” Dora said, but her father shut the door to her bedroom behind him as he and Severus left. She assumed that he locked it.

Remus had tried every spell to reveal that he knew, but to no use. 11 and 13 Grimmauld Place remained in place, and 12 would not appear.  
“Ubi est Pandora Black?” he asked, and flourished his wand.  
If the spell was unfettered, then it would point Remus in Pandora’s direction. Light flared at the end of his wand, and then flickered out, as if its batteries had just died.  
“Damn him! Damn my brother!” Sirius roared.  
“My love,” Remus urged comfortingly.  
“He was always so bloody…misguided! He had such a mind, a brilliant mind, but he bought wholesale my parents’ vision of what his life should be. Ruined his bloody life. And all these years he’s been skulking in the shadows, living like a monster, neglecting Dora. He has no right to pull Dora into that darkness,” Sirius raged.  
Remus had been nursing his shock within, feeling it boil, then simmer, and diffuse like a liqeur in a dessert. He had loved Regulus, he had been bound to him by a red chord, then rejected by him, and then cut adrift from their bond by what he had assumed was Regulus’s death. He was confused and saddened by the revelation that he lived, and had hidden from them all.  
“Sirius…” Remus said, trying to soothe his lover with his own name.  
Sirius peered into the nonexistent space between 11 and 13, knowing the house where he had grown up was there but unable to enter, to even see it. The unspoken truth hung in the air that he could no longer reveal 12 Grimmauld Place, nor would it be revealed in his presence because he had been banished by his family. Pandora was in that house, out of bounds; Regulus was in there, refusing to let him in.  
Sounding exhausted, Sirius said, “Tomorrow is Pandora’s birthday.”  
Sirius put his arm around Remus. “Let’s go, my love. There is nothing more we can do here, tonight. While you were on the phone with Caroline Granger, I sent word to Dumbledore and Robbie. The best thing we can do is to get back to Hogsmeade, to take Harry home.”  
“I was too hard on Harry. I need to talk to him,” Sirius said.  
“We both do. We shall,” Remus said, and opened an Egress. 

“Hermione, boys,” Caroline said, “I know how worried you must be about Pandora, but you can’t stay up all night like this, it’s bad for you.”  
“I just wish I could do something useful!” Harry said. Hermione stroked his shoulder comfortingly.  
“I know it seems dismissive, but staying calm is doing something useful. Like those old war posters, you know, ‘Keep calm and carry on’,” Caroline said.  
“And pretend nothing’s wrong?” Harry said.  
“No, not at all. To be calm, truly calm, is to maintain inner peace even when something is wrong,” Caroline said. “Shall we breathe together? Sit on the floor, everyone.”  
Caroline led Hermione, Harry, and Ron through a breathing exercise called Ujjayi Pranayama, deep breaths into the bottom of the abdomen that warmed the body and sounded like ocean waves. As Harry breathed, images rang through his mind: Dora, the first time he saw her, wearing red velvet, then in white like a bride at Buttershaw Hall, running to him on the Quidditch field under the sunset, reading the names with him of his family tree at Orchard Grange, watching the auroras on the wall at home…he loved her so much, and was so afraid. She had just spoken of how Mrs. Applethwaite’s cries haunted her, and now the same words she had cried rang like a struck bell in Harry’s head: “Where is she?”  
“I don’t think this is for me, Mrs. Granger,” Harry said, opening his eyes.  
“Pranayama and meditation can feel difficult at first. You do meet what’s wrong before you get better. Its kind of like unclogging a toilet,” Mrs. Granger said.  
Harry laughed, and said, “That makes sense. I guess I do feel a little calmer.”  
“That’s good,” Mrs. Granger said, smiling warmly.  
Remus and Sirius came back through the Egress. Pandora was not with them. When Harry saw this, he felt like the floor opened under them.  
“Sirius,” Harry said. “I’m so sorry.”  
Sirius’s eyes met his, and there was no anger. Harry saw his sadness and dismay, and it mirrored his own. Dora had been in their lives for such a short time, but she felt as if she always belonged in their family. Harry could tell that Sirius was just as shocked as he was that she was missing.  
“Harry, this isn’t your fault. I just don’t want you, or Dora, or any of you kids, chasing danger, and getting hurt,” Sirius said.  
“When we get Dora back, I’ll do more to protect her,” Harry said.  
“Harry, you don’t understand. We’re the adults,” Sirius said, gesturing to himself, Remus, Caroline, and Francis. “We protect you. There are real dangers out there. We can’t control that, but we can do our best to protect you. Harry, you aren’t alone. Far from it.”  
Sirius hugged Harry, and held him close.


	59. Chapter 59

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dora contemplates escape; Regulus and Severus talk about Ada; Dumbledore instructs Sirius, Remus, and Robbie; Dora clues Harry in on Regulus's and Severus's plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone reading! I appreciate all your reads and kudos very much! Stay safe, and be well:)

Dora had tried every way she knew how, to get free from the Pureblood aristocracy-or, so she had thought. She had tried every way she had seen Anthea and Draco escape Malfoy Manor. To a child, their home was the scope of the world, for good or for ill. Anthea had left the Manor by marrying Maurice Buttershaw, and Draco was away half the year at school, so she had thought that they were free, freer than her. But, Anthea was still living the life set out for her by the circumstances of her birth, a wealthy society wife to a wizard of the ruling class, and Draco was still on the ground fighting a war started and fueled by the competing agendas of older men.  
Dora had tried escaping to school, like Draco, and…she had to admit to herself that she had not been surprised when Severus proposed to her. She was a creature of the Vale, and he had been around long enough to know its rules, too, and that the familiarity that had developed between them must lead to either scandal or marriage. She had been willing to accept the latter if it meant escaping her Aunt’s misery and her Uncle’s secrets, to live a life of like-minded companionship and stability…but, then she met Harry, and knew that she couldn’t forsake the joys of truly loving someone.  
She hadn’t gone far enough. She had to find her own unique path to true freedom, something no one before her had thought up, or tried, before.  
She looked at the window. How many wizards before her had been doomed to enact their society’s rituals and live up to its standards, doomed themselves by being afraid to seek a life elsewhere? If she climbed out of the window, she would have nowhere to run but Muggle London. She didn’t know how to open Egresses yet, so she couldn’t access the magical shadow city, Londinium, so she would have to try to make it back to the one place she knew in Muggle London, Hermione’s house in Notting Hill. She would have to talk to strangers, Muggle strangers…she didn’t have her wand, she couldn’t use magic to help her. But, she’d gone most of her life without a wand, and without magic-she had herself, that was all she needed.  
Dora pulled at the window….it wouldn’t budge. She fiddled with the latch every which way she could. She picked up the music box, the heaviest tome on the bookshelf, and a porcelain lamp base…nothing would shatter the enchanted glass. Dora panicked; it wasn’t just a matter of her own will, she wasn’t the only force holding herself back, there were true odds against her.  
What is magic? What summoned it, through a wand, if not her own will to use it? If magic could change elements to new forms, it must be stronger than forces that sought to impede it. She breathed, and centered, as Professor Fortune had taught them….he had taught them to create a shield around themselves made of energy, of magic, but she wanted to gather and direct it…she touched the glass, and felt a thrill of victory when it began to quake. It wanted to break, to obey her, but there was another magic wrapped around it, like sheets of iron. It was the magic of 12 Grimmauld Place, old and strong, whose intentions were to conceal and to hold things within. 

“Oh, no. It looks like Dora is in a temper,” Regulus said, as the crystal decanters of the minibar shook. The paintings on the walls were shaking, too, and the portraits of severe looking Black ancestors were shooting scandalized looks at Regulus, as if to say, ‘Boy, can’t you control that daughter of your’s?”  
Severus braved the quaking glass and poured himself a brandy. He needed a drink, it distracted him from the slow and persistent organ failure of Ghoulishness.  
“A temper? I’d say she’s furious,” Severus said.  
“Parents have to make hard decisions, sacrifices. Right now, that means prioritizing Dora’s happiness for her safety. I’d rather her alive and furious than a happy fool marching blithely to her death beside Harry Potter,” Regulus said.  
Severus made it a policy not to betray any affection towards Harry around Death Eaters, even former ones, so he murmured, “Agreed,” into his glass.  
His thoughts turned to how his former, almost, de facto stepson must be feeling. If he knew Harry, he was ranting and pacing, raging at the unfairness of Dora’s kidnapping, and his own failure to protect her. He was probably making a rescue plan with Granger and Weasley as hastily concocted as any Potion they had ever chemical burned one school issued cauldron after another in preparing. He was infuriatingly like his mother: full of noble ideals, with the courage to rush in where angels fear to tread, but a tad too emotional to be 100% effective. Severus had never argued with anyone the way he did with Lily Evans-any one of their disagreements from 20 or so years of friendship could be resumed at any point with the same mutual vociferousness. But, coupled with Lily’s stubborn independence, Harry had James Potter’s quicksilver elusiveness-one had to get hold of Harry to argue with him, which was the tricky bit. All told, Harry would probably be running away to seek Dora.  
No matter. That was Sirius Black’s problem. Severus’s task was to get to the City of Temples, steal the Lapis, and convey it to Dumbledore.  
“You’re thinking of her too, aren’t you?” Regulus said. “Ada?”  
He hadn’t been, actually, but with the vulnerable look in Regulus’s gray eyes, Severus felt it would be indelicate to mention that.  
“She is never far from my thoughts, but today…these were her last hours, on this day, 17 years ago,” Regulus said.  
Ada…they had grown close over their mutual talent and ambition, but after Severus accidentally hexed James Potter, and his other friends scattered, Ada had not flinched from or forsaken him. She helped him get to the Emerald Order, she became his Master and attuned him after he served as her assistant. The one thing they could not be was lovers, as much as he had longed to kiss her, hold her, bury himself in her spicy smell, cassia and frankincense, and her skin like dark honey…she was promised to Regulus, and would not betray him. But, in every other way, he was by her side. No one else in his life had so unequivocally chosen him. He could never understand why a girl like her-rich, beautiful, Pureblood-liked him so much; it was like an enchantment he had been afraid to break.  
He wished he had been braver, brave enough to tell Ada that he had fallen in love with her. It wasn’t like what he had felt for Robbie and Lily, that had grown out of friendship. It had always been love, it had begun as love and continued after Ada’s death. He would simply always love her. These had been her last hours, and seventeen years later only he, Dora, and Regulus remained. The room blurred. Severus’s eyes burned. He blinked away the tears. 

“Tried everything I know, Headmaster. I’m batting 0 for 2 when it comes to finding people, these days,” Robbie Fortune said.  
Dumbledore gave Robbie a sad, slight smile, and said, “Well, where force has failed us, we must use patience, instead.”  
“What do you mean, Professor?” Remus asked. He and Sirius had arrived via Egress, to Dumbledore’s office.  
“Soon, Regulus Black and his daughter will be travelling to the City of Temples, to open the Black family vault. Sirius, Remus, Robert: you will be there to meet them, and extract Pandora,” Dumbledore said.  
“The Vault? What’s my brother got, a bucket list of crimes? First kidnapping, now bank robbery?” Sirius said.  
“He seeks the Philosopher’s Stone that he, his wife, Ada, and Severus Snape concocted while adepts at the Emerald Order. Ada hid it, at the behest of Professor Flamel, in the vault of her husband’s family,” Dumbledore said.  
“Always a slippery one, Ada,” Sirius said, with admiration.  
“Wait, Professor Flamel? He’s teaching here, at Hogwarts?” Remus said.  
“Can’t be-he’s in Ethiopia, isn’t he?” Sirius said.  
“I’d heard the Gobi desert,” Fortune said.  
“No, I recall reading in one of Draco’s reports from Malfoy Manor that Flamel was sighted in Paris,” Remus said.  
“Well, there is either one truth, or there is many,” Dumbledore said.  
“There can only be one Perrier Flamel, at any rate,” Sirius said.  
Dumbledore said nothing, leaving his former students wondering if that was a statement in itself.  
“When d’you reckon Regulus will try to get into the vault?” Robbie asked.  
“Within minutes-the vault opens at the hour Pandora turns 17, at the stroke of midnight,” Dumbledore said.

Exhausted, Dora lay in the frilly bed that Kreacher had prepared for her.  
‘Harry,’ Dora thought, saying his name disconsolately like a mantra or prayer. She felt him answer, his voice a whisper cradled within her thoughts.  
‘Dora! Where are you? Are you at Grimmauld Place?’ he asked.  
‘Yes! I’m locked in my room, and the window is charmed shut. I can’t break the magic…I can’t get out..’ she told him. ‘Are you still in London?’  
‘No, we’re back at Hogwarts. Sirius and Remus are meeting with Dumbledore, we’re not allowed in,’ Harry told her.  
‘Look, Harry, my father and Severus are taking me to the City of Temples. I told you about it, remember? The necropolis of mausoleums and vaults, in Londinium? They want the Lapis. We’re leaving soon. Tell my Uncle, and Professor Dumbledore!’ Pandora urged Harry, and then Kreacher appeared in her room.  
“Mistress Pandora, Master Regulus has sent me to help you prepare for your travels. He hopes your rest has been sufficient,” Kreacher said.  
“Your tea was very effective, Kreacher,” Pandora said, saying neither yes, or no to his question, but finding some praise for the house elf.  
“Thank you, Mistress. May Kreacher suggest the green velvet traveling cloak, and a taffeta day dress? Mistress Pandora is a woman now, and must dress like one. Mistress is an exemplary young witch of a nobly pure house,” Kreacher said.  
“Yes, Kreacher. Dress me,” She said.  
With the mysterious magic of house elves, in a blink Kreacher dressed Dora in a high collared silver taffeta day dress, and a green velvet traveling cloak. Silver and emerald green, Slytherin colors. Who had she ever been kidding? She had tried to hide in Ravenclaw, her mother’s Coven, but her legacy was Slytherin-12 Grimmauld Place was a Slytherin family’s home, and the temple which held her inheritance was a Slytherin mausoleum where generations of her Dark wizard ancestors slept.  
She had no choice but to go with her father and Severus to the City of Temples, but she would fight back and escape as soon as she got the chance. She knew she had it in her, she’d been fighting the same battle for so long.


	60. Chapter 60

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wizards, Dark and Light, converge upon the City of Temples.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Stay safe, and enjoy! I wrote two chapters, this weekend, so please do continue on to Chapter 61:)

Harry and Hermione were sitting up in the common room, unable to sleep, filling Ginny in on all that had transpired. Ron had broken away and went upstairs, at one point. The firelight from the fireplace caught in Ginny’s hair like a thread woven through a bird’s nest. She wore a Victorian looking white nightgown similar enough in fashion to his mum’s party dress in those Sweet Sixteen party pictures that, just like at the Quidditch game where he had first remembered Baby Rose, the resemblance to his mother gave him a jolt. Even Hagrid and Sirius had said they’d noticed it.   
“What is it? Why are you staring at me?” Ginny said.  
“Sorry, Gin. I guess I was just staring into space, because I’m tired,” he lied.  
He felt the red chord stir, and heard Dora’s voice. She was saying his name. It filled his mind, the way siren song filled the Ravenclaw common room the time he had accompanied Dora there. Harry stood, and went to the fire, looking into its lashing flames as Dora told him where she was going to be taken, The City of Temples.  
When Dora’s voice faded, Harry rushed to tell Ginny and Hermione about the City of Temples.  
“We have to go, now!” Harry said.  
“Harry, no! Sirius was furious with you for lying about Wiltshire, and everything else we’ve been up to,” Hermione said. “We’d better go to Dumbledore’s office, and tell him what Dora’s told you!”  
“Hermione, don’t be daft! We have minutes, at most. We have to go!” Ginny said.   
“Sorry, ‘Mione, but Gin’s right. I know Sirius will be angry, but I also know that he would do the same thing for Uncle Remus,” Harry said. “I’ll go get Ron-Gin, you and Mione go down to the spare broom cupboard at the Quidditch pitch, grab some brooms. We’ll meet you there.”  
Harry jogged up the stairs. When he opened the door to the room they shared, he saw Ron entangled in a heated kiss with Dean Thomas, in Dean’s bed. Dean was still in his pajamas, but Ron was shirtless, in just his pajama pants.  
“Er…Ron, can I have a word?” Harry said.  
Ron pulled away from Dean, their kiss ending in the same wet smack as Ron’s kiss with Malfoy through the scrying bowl had. He bounced off the bed, and slipped on a white t-shirt and some slippers.  
“Later?” Ron asked Dean.  
“Yeah, that’s cool,” Dean said.  
“What was that?” Harry said, as they walked down the corridor. “What about Freddie Breedlove?”   
“He’s a nice bloke, you know,” Ron shrugged.   
“And what about Malfoy?” Harry said, loathe as he was to plead for his rival’s case. “Look, what’s gotten into you? Were you always eating boys like toffees, one after the other, I just never bloody noticed?”  
“I am not!” Ron protested. He combed his ginger hair, lighter and more carroty than his sister’s, with his palm out of stress. “Look…Draco won’t write to me, or water scry with me, anymore…I’ve no way of knowing if he’s okay, and its doing my head in, and when I feel like that, I…need to take the pressure off…”  
“So, when you’re stressed about Malfoy, you snog other boys?” Harry said.  
“Yes! Okay? I know its irrational, but…you know how it feels, don’t you? Now Dora’s gone, too. I feel useless, but like I need to be doing something for him, there must be a way I can save him. When we were kids, we took lessons together, foundational stuff you need to be a wizard, like how to speak Latin, and Ancient Greek. I practically lived at the Manor, I wore his old clothes, had meals with him, and slept in the same bed as him. We kissed for the first time when we were nine. It was Beltane, and we played that we were handfasting…he wore flowers in his hair, and one of Dora’s dresses, he was the bride. When we went to school…he ditched me for those posh gits. But, sometimes, in summer, we still found a moment to be alone. When I saw him at the Molly House…it all came alive again, not the little that you allow yourself to feel in stolen moments but this explosion of feelings, like fireworks. I wanted all we could have,” Ron said.   
His plaintive tone broke Harry’s heart. He did know how Ron felt, and he felt guilty that his ordeal may soon end, whereas Ron’s had no easy answer or resolution: for the time being, Draco must remain at his family home as a spy.  
“I’m sure he still likes you, too,” Harry said. “Which is why you might want to stop cheating on him.”  
Ron blushed, and nodded. Harry told him about the City of Temples. Ron agreed with Ginny that they had no time to lose in rescuing Dora from her father, but he asked,  
“Yeah, but how do we find it? The City of Temples? And how do we get to Londinum?”  
Harry hadn’t thought of that bit, but answered on the fly, “I’m sure Hermione will know!”  
He was in luck. When he and Ron made it to the pitch, Harry with his Firebolt and Ron with his Zephyr 1.0 broom, Ginny and Hermione had mounted standard issue school Rockets, neither the best broom in the world nor the worst, and Hermione informed them,  
“We can use a Locus charm to locate the City of Temples, and ‘Ubi est?’ to look for Pandora herself when we arrive,” Hermione said. “Let’s cast Locus all at once, all right? Say ‘Locus’, and then where you want to go.”  
In unison, the young wizards cried, “Locus, City of Temples!” and lifted their brooms off into the night. Their wands glowed, and their brooms pointed in the direction of their destination as they flew against the stars and the full moon.

“All this Egressing has my stomach feeling a bit grotty,” Remus admitted.  
“I’ll make you some ginger tea when we get home, Moonflower,” Sirius said, as he, Remus, and Robert stepped out of the Egress in front of the black wrought iron gate of the City of Temples. Willows waved behind the gate, and along the slender path that began at the gate were, of course, cypresses: the trees of the dead.   
The gate opened with a creaky noise, and a thin, bald man with pale blue eyes like bits of chipped glass, in a dark gray three-piece suit said,   
“I am the Templekeeper. What is your business?”   
“My name is Sirius Black. I seek admission to my family’s vaults. You see, my niece comes of age, and there’s a necklace in the vault I’d like to take out, present to her at her debut,” Sirius lied.  
“Ah, Guildsman Black. Son of Orion Black, who himself was the son of Aries Black, the son of Arcturus Black, the son of Castor Black, the son of-” The man recited, but Sirius cut him off.  
“Yes, yes, the very one, that’s me,” he said, impatiently. “I rather wanted to present it to her at breakfast, you see, as a birthday surprise…I know I’ve left it rather late, but, I’m a busy man. Shall we see the key to the Vaults, then?”  
Looking a bit put out, the man opened his coat. The inside of his coat was hung with several keys. The Templekeeper gave Sirius a nod of permission, and he selected the key that said ‘Black’ beneath it.  
“Cheers!” Sirius said, and waved Robbie and Remus along down the path between family temples.   
It was less like a cemetery than a sculpture garden. It reminded Remus of French and Italian gardens he had seen in his youth at the villas of his mother’s conquests, idle rich men who started off fond and indulgent but turned distant or worse, sending his mother back to the small Yorkshire town she had chosen as their base camp so that his wolf could run free, with yet another heartbreak. Like the boscos and gardens of those villas, the City of Temples was dotted with sculpture meant to evoke the grandeur of the ancient world: Egyptian obelisks, Greco-Roman temples, and many memorial statues which echoed the grace and form of classical sculptors like Praxiteles. All of it was done in white marble, which shone in the light of the full moon, and was draped with gray shadows of the cypresses and willows. The mood of the necropolis was somnolent. Remus felt like a dreamer, walking a path that repeated itself, doubled back and sent him where he had already passed, taking him no further, only deeper into the vain fancies of sleep.  
They came to a manmade river, and a boat sailed languidly towards them, animated to present itself to them.  
“You two, go ahead. I’ll wait,” Robbie said.  
“Nonsense. We’ll just enlarge the thing a bit. My brother is a Vampire, who knows what tricks he’s got up his sleeve? We need all hands on deck to extract Pandora,” Sirius said. “Not that I doubt you, Remus.”  
“No, no, my love. The thought hadn’t…occurred,” Remus said, but his voice was faint and breathy.   
“Reemie? What’s wrong? You're looking poorly…” Sirius said.  
“Forgive me, my love,” Remus said.  
“Don’t be melodramatic! What’s wrong?” Sirius said gruffly, out of concern. He was becoming a bit scared for Remus. They both looked up at the full moon.  
“In all the hullabaloo, I…forgot to take my medication, tonight. Rushing off to London, then here, and I just didn’t….” Remus didn’t finish, because he clutched his stomach and doubled over in pain. His transformation was beginning.

“Oh, bloody Hell,” Robbie muttered, as Sirius rushed to put his arms around Remus, and cradled him as they both sank to the grass. “Quick, open his shirt!”  
Sirius obeyed, and Robbie drew an athame, a magical knife, out of the pocket of his Burberry trench coat. The tip glowed as a wand did, and he began to write on Remus’s exposed chest in fiery letters. Remus, to Sirius’s distress, began foaming at the mouth and gutturally groaning, tensing and bracing his body as if fighting the rune.   
“Rob, what are you doing to him? His body seems to be rejecting that Rune!” Sirius said frantically.   
“Yeah, well, that’s technically how the thing works. It’ll hold the wolf in for a bit,” Robbie said. “I need him to stop fighting it though!” Robbie put the athame aside, and his hands began to glow. He lay his light-engulfed hands, on Remus’s torso, and his body began to relax.  
“You’re freaky shit, Rob,” Sirius said. “and you’re one Hell of a wizard. Always knew you had it in you.”  
“And to think, all I wanted out of life was to be a rock star, and marry Paulina Porizkova,” Robbie said.  
“Hmm…I thought it was Greg Louganis?” Sirius said.  
Robbie winked. “Whoever I met first,” he said, with a shrug. “You go on to your family temple. I’ll stay with Reemie.”  
Sirius chastely kissed the top of his ex-boyfriend’s head in gratitude, and caressed Remus’s cheek, giving him a longing look. Then, he boarded the rowboat by himself, and careened the star strewn dark river towards his family’s temple. 

“We cannot Egress into the Temple, can we?” Pandora asked, as she, Regulus, and Severus stepped out of a portal, at the head of a dark river.  
“No, but water cannot be denied. We’ll take the River Mnemosyne. Its waters have a potent magic, which can either steal or restore the memory. Like the River Lethe, in myth, which flows to the Underworld,” Regulus told her.   
A golden, full moon shone down, glistening on the face of the dark water. The rich smell of mud rose from the high grass along the river.   
“Where are we, Father?” Pandora asked.   
“Londinium, a part of Londinium called Thistlefield. If one wasn’t aware that the heart of the city lay so close, one would easily assume they were in the countryside, here,” Regulus said.  
“Why did our family choose to live in the Muggle city, instead of in a place like this?” Pandora asked.  
“Well, certain traditions dictated that….” Regulus said, but trailed off.  
“Certain traditions, such as?” Pandora asked.  
“Muggle-baiting,” Severus said. “I think what your father is alluding to is that his family, for centuries, were notorious Muggle-baiters. They liked to find them, give them a bit of a scare, and then turn them loose, terrified, ranting about a house which, to all appearances, didn’t exist.”  
“Oh, that sounds horrid! Is that really why the Blacks lived in the city?” Pandora said, aware that Severus was giving Regulus an arch smile of grim triumph.   
“It was not an uncommon pastime, among a certain sort of wizard, but my family ceased the practice when it was outlawed, of course. Just a bit of Halloween fun, you know, in days gone by. I never did it!” Regulus said, becoming a bit flustered.  
Pandora gathered that this was a well-worn pattern they had, undermining each other. Remus had called them ‘frienemies’, and said they competed for her mother’s attention. Pandora wanted to scream, “I am not my mother!!!”   
“Just get the boat, Severus,” Regulus sighed.  
Snape obeyed, probably because he was compelled to by the Dark Curse of being Regulus’s Ghoul, and untied a rowboat from a post. He held out his hand to Dora, and she navigated the hem of her cloak and gown and boarded the boat. Her father sat beside her, and Severus began to row. The hoots of owls and throaty cries of frogs rang unseen from the trees that hugged the river closely. The boat at some points glided on smooth water, at others it bouncingly lurched over swells of water.   
“Father?” Dora asked. “If we can’t Egress into the City, how will we open the Portal to Heliopolis?”   
“Once we have acquired the stone, we will return the way we came,” Regulus said. “and then, we shall open the Egress.”  
“To the City of Alchemists. What was it like, when you were young men, when you and my mother studied there?” Pandora asked.  
“Orderly, and full of enlightened minds. A true city of peace,” Regulus said fondly. “I have no doubt you will love Heliopolis as we did, Pandora. It has many gifts in store for you.”  
Dora allowed herself a smile at the realization that her father had made a pun on her name: ‘She of many gifts.’  
“Indeed, you seem resigned to the idea of accompanying us to the city. After trying to bring down the very foundations of 12 Grimmauld Place with your fury at the idea,” Severus said.  
“I am a woman. Are we not said to be changeable?” Pandora said.  
Regulus laughed heartily. “Ah, how like your mother you are, my daughter,” he said. “She always knew her own mind best of all.”   
Severus rowed. He was neither amused nor convinced. He was suspicious. Pandora looked into the dark waters of the River Mnemosyne, as they rippled around the boat. She decided that silence was the only course of action that would keep her plans to herself. Eventually, they left the forest behind, and the monuments of the necropolis came into view: statues, temples, and obelisks, like a secret city of Ancient Egypt accessible only to priests. Severus rowed the boat to land, and he, Regulus and Dora disembarked.  
“That’s ours’ up there, dear,” Regulus said, pointing to a temple on a hill.   
He plucked cattails from the river’s edge, and held them out to Snape, who transfigured them into dark, red roses. Dora didn’t understand why until they approached the tomb, and she was met with a statue of her mother, carved in gleaming black volcanic stone, like dark glass. Ada’s striking beauty had been rendered in obsidian. She looked like a goddess.  
Regulus lay the flowers at the base of the statue, and looked at the finely rendered statue of his wife. Pandora could hardly tear her gaze away. Just like the portrait at Ravenclaw Tower, it was just a copy, it wasn’t enough.  
“Pandora, come,” Snape said gently. She looked up, and saw that Regulus was already headed up the hill, he had said his respects to her mother privately, and then left without her.   
“Sir, do you want to…take a moment? I know you loved her,” Pandora said.  
“This is not her,” he said sadly. “Its just an echo. We can’t gather echoes, and recreate the ones we’ve loved.”  
They continued, towards the Black family temple, after Regulus.

Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione touched down on the grass of a hill overlooking a river.   
“Look!” Ginny said pointing to a boat on the dark river.   
Harry looked, and saw two wizards in dark cloaks, and a more slender form in a cloak with a velvety sheen that, if pressed, Harry would say was a witch. It must have been Snape, Regulus, and Dora.   
“What should we do?” Ron asked.   
“Head up to the Temple, and conceal ourselves and wait for them to approach. We stun Snape and Regulus, and that gives Dora a chance to run-and I’m sure she’ll take the chance,” Hermione said. Ginny nodded in accord, and it sounded solid to Harry, too.   
They jettisoned their brooms, and took position in shrubbery around the entrance of the stone mausoleum carved with Egyptian hieroglyphs and runes like the ones tattooed on Sirius’s hands and chest. When the figure of a wizard approached, enshadowed except for a sliver’s grace of moonlight.   
“Fire,” Harry hissed, and at once the four of them yelled,   
“STUPEFY!!!”  
Jets of light assailed the wizard and knocked him on his back. Harry assumed it was Regulus, or Snape…but, neither of them were likely to exclaim, “Merlin’s bollocks!” as he went down.   
“Sirius?” Harry said, and rushed to his godfather’s side.   
Sirius sputtered and caught his breath.  
“Harry…what the Hell are you doing here?” Sirius demanded, but the impact of his anger was not quite so severe given how hoarse and breathless he was.  
“Dora,” Harry said simply.  
“Ah, bugger it…if I had a chance to save your dad, your mum, your sister, Rose, my daughter Belphoebe, or my sister, Cordelia, I’d take my bloody shot, the odds be damned. I’d make my own odds, and take a chance on them,” Sirius said. “I reckon its my fault you’re so much like me, isn’t it?”  
“Well, yeah…you are my Dad, after all,” Harry said.  
Sirius laughed with joy. “Damn! That felt good. I rather like being called ‘Dad’! Now help me up,” he said.  
Harry obeyed. Sirius dusted himself off, and he, Harry, and Ron, Hermione, and Ginny met up at the mausoleum.  
“All right…we’re going to open it, and look for the Lapis. It should look like a crystal. It may be on a chain, like a pendant, some Alchemists disguise them as jewelry,” Sirius said, as he inserted the key into the temple door. The symbols carved into the mausoleum door glowed golden, as the door slid open.

“Eat this,” Regulus said, and handed Dora an herb.  
“What?” she asked.  
“It’s moly-it affects transformations,” Severus said.  
She looked at the herb in her father’s cold, pale hand. She hadn’t signed on to ingest any herbs, or to be transformed. She looked at the man who was her father, and the man who was almost her husband, and knew with dread certainty that she didn’t trust them. She looked at the moon. In the distance, at the foot of the path, where they had started out from, the moonlight glinted on the obsidian carving of her mother. ‘Courage,’ she asked, of the moon and her mother. ‘Faith. See me through this.’  
She took the herb. She ate it. Once again, she felt she was watching a film, but the girl on the screen was not Princess Buttercup or Dorothy Gale, but her, Dora Black, in green velvet and silk taffeta. Severus was speaking to her, telling her about witches who would take this herb on Walpurgis Night sabbaths, and fly…how Goya depicted this in his paintings.   
“Focus. You will feel yourself turn into air and darkness, guide yourself into the temple,” Severus said.   
She was disintegrating, flying, pulling apart, the air was assailing her like a wave, she was the air, she was blowing in the wind, she was the wind….but, there was still a core of her that was mind, heart, soul. She could do this, she could guide herself into the temple. Once, she had been caught in a riptide while swimming in the shallows of Mermaid Bay. She had not experienced a moment’s fear, because she realized that the thing to do was not to try and swim-that was how people drowned, flailing. She had to let go, and the waves would do as they were meant to, swell and roll to the shore. If she relaxed her body, it would carry her, the way it did bottles, wood, shells, and other flotsam, to the sand. She let the air carry her like water, and she sailed for centuries within seconds.  
Her feet touched ground. She looked around, and saw that she was in what looked like a cathedral carved from a cavern, with many names written on marble squares on the wall. The space was much bigger than the temple’s exterior belied, with craggy stone walls save for the marble squares bearing her ancestor’s names, and a high, domed ceiling made of rough, sparkling amethyst.   
“Severus, where is my father?” she asked.  
“He cannot enter, because he is a Dark Creature,” he answered.  
“Oh…that’s why he needed me, isn’t it?” she asked, sadly.   
She saw sympathy in his eyes and didn’t want it. It didn’t suit him. Only excellence moved him, never pitifulness. She must really be pathetic, worse than an orphan: simply unloved.   
Well, what of it? She didn’t love Regulus, either. She loved both her uncles. It was hard to reconcile the handsome, charming man who had doted on her with what Lucius Malfoy had become…but, she loved him for being the only father she had ever known. She had just met her uncle Sirius, but she loved his kindness, patience, jollity, honesty, and generosity. There was her aunt, who had been the best mother she knew how to be, all while struggling with a private pain that Dora couldn’t find an origin point for: her wilted marriage, her lost sister and niece…? Either way, as frail and flawed as she was, for all her snobbery and her taste for Faerie powders, Narcissa loved her like a daughter. She didn’t need to be needed by Regulus.   
“Focus,” Severus said.  
“What am I looking for?” she snapped.   
“The Lapis. Any vault in this temple will open for you, you’re its heir,” he said.  
“But, some of them are bones,” she said, shuddering.  
“Well, yes,” he said impatiently.   
He didn’t understand…she hated to be like her Aunt Cissy, who called him ‘Half-Blood’ when her powders weren’t kicking in or she suspected he had given her an inferior substance, but he didn’t know how it felt to be heir to anything, let alone a House like that of Black. There were bones and treasures alike, here, and they both beckoned to her not with a loud voice but an insidious whisper. This magic was old, it was dark, but it was also hers’. She had told Harry that wizards were more mystery than man…and she knew if she let go the mystery would take her like a wave.   
The names were those of her ancestors. There were her grandparents, Orion and Walburga. She had always heard that her grandmother was the true head of the family, her grandfather was a quietly despairing man, who had odd hobbies like sticking model ships in bottles. Her young aunt, Cordelia Maia, named, like Pandora herself, for an asteroid and a Pleiad. She knew little about her…her death as a maiden had been eclipsed by the later and more Baroque tragedy of Bellatrix and Belphoebe, it seemed. The names did not have the welcoming feel that those of the Potter family did, at Orchard Grange. Each name, rather, was competing with the other to be remembered. Remember me, they each said, with no sympathy for the other. Hungry ghosts….  
But, it was the numbers she must concern herself with.   
A lovely girl with skin like the moon reflected in water, lake gray eyes, and black hair stood by the stone which said ‘Cordelia’. She wore a white muslin dress, and a thin silk shawl.  
“Cordelia,” Pandora said aloud.  
Severus thought she was asking him, and answered, “Regulus’s elder sister. He was quite fond of her.”   
Pandora paid him no mind, and looked into her eyes. “How did you die?” she asked.  
“Love crucified me. I died for love,” she said.   
Pandora nodded. There must have been no other choice, for Cordelia.   
“Is that how it shall be, for me?” Pandora asked.  
“No, dear girl. You will live for love. Love resurrects you,” Cordelia said. “Take the stone. Take the stone to Albus.”  
She was about to ask Cordelia where it was, but she understood. Her father loved Cordelia…and in a way, he loved her, too. The combination of her name, asteroid and Pleiad, was a paean to his sister. He had linked them forever, in Dora’s name…so, the Lapis must connect them, too.  
She placed her hand on the numbered marble square beside the one bearing Cordelia’s name. It slid open like a drawer, and inside was a small blue tinged crystal on a silver chain. Dora took the Lapis. It was cool in her palms, and made her hands tingle.  
“Dora!” Harry cried.  
She turned around, and there was Harry, in his pajamas, holding his wand. Ginny, Ron, Hermione, and her Uncle Sirius, were there as well.  
“Harry, stand back,” Sirius said, and addressed Snape, “Sorry, to show up before you can tie my niece to railroad tracks, Snivelly-by God, you’ve made yourself a sad cliché!”  
“You meddle in things you haven’t the capacity to comprehend, Black!” Snape snarled, and waved his wand. Dora thought he was going to hex her uncle, but instead, he opened an Egress. “Dora, go!” he ordered.   
She hesitated. What should she do? She didn’t trust her father and his Ghoul. She looked to Cordelia’s ghost.  
“Give it to Albus,” she said, and Pandora nodded at her aunt’s ghost. She went through the Egress….and on the other side was Professor Dumbledore, sitting in the chair in his office, wearing a patient smile. 

“No!” Harry cried.   
What was Dora doing, what had she done? They had come for her, they were there to take her home, to fight by her side, and she had left, she had trusted Snape, instead, the man who had drank her blood, the man who had betrayed Harry’s mother when she had fled so far to protect him, and Rose…  
‘Your mother, your sister, your love…’ hissed the Serpent’s voice in Harry’s mind.   
“YOU TAKE EVERYTHING AWAY FROM ME! EVERYTHING! EVERYONE!!!” Harry roared. He didn’t even have to say an incantation. It was as if his wand felt his fury, and a jet of fiery light shot from it towards Snape. An older, and more experienced wizard, Snape answered Harry’s fury with precision and deflected Harry’s magic. Harry Energy Shielded like Fortune had taught him, and once again the fiery magic aimed at Snape.  
“Oy!” Sirius objected, and broke the chain. He aimed at Snape, a jet of light that singed the arm of his dark coat, and must have burned him for he grasped the burned cloth and wounded flesh with his hand.   
“YOU KILLED MY MOTHER!” Harry roared, but he could not raise his arm to fire his wand again, because Sirius held him tightly around the waist, restraining him. Harry thought the anguish he felt would kill him. It was like trying to hold in a tornado. The rage and sadness were nearly making him blind. He knew that he would remember these moments in distorted funhouse dimensions.   
“Pandora is at Hogwarts,” Snape said, and then disappeared into dark smoke.   
“Can ghouls usually do that?” Ron asked.  
“Erm….no, actually,” Hermione said, sounding baffled.   
“Harry! Harry! You must calm down,” Sirius said.  
“You’re the one who told me…my mum, she lived! She ran away! She ran away with me, and got all the way to America, and…and…I had a sister…we lived together…I remember, Sirius, we had a tv, and I was watching cartoons…I had a family…I had a family….he took them, and now he’s taken Dora, too….” Harry said, and he felt desperation galloping through him, the tears threatening to fall. “Mum, Rose, Dora….”  
“Harry, Dora’s at Hogwarts. Hogwarts,” Sirius repeated, trying to get through to him.  
Finally, he understood. Hogwarts…they would go there, and she would be there. He took deep breaths, and finally Sirius let go of him.  
“We can’t Egress out of the Temple,” Sirius said, “but we can outside the gate. Remus and Robbie are waiting for us.”  
They took one last look at the glinting light of the torches on the walls dancing along the druzy amethyst ceiling, and then followed Sirius out of the Temple. He closed the door behind him, and the runes carved on the mausoleum slept once more.


	61. Chapter 61

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pandora demands, and receives, the truth from Flamel and Dumbledore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My gratitude to everyone reading The Alchemist's Daughter is immense. I needed hope, light, and a fresh start in life...and so I found myself re-reading Harry Potter, and revisiting my old fanfiction headcanons. I am so happy and heartened by the response that it has gotten. Thank you for sharing this moment with me!

“Professor Dumbledore!” Pandora said.  
Dumbledore gracefully rose from his chair, and held out a hand to help Dora to her feet.   
“Thank you, sir,” Pandora said.  
“Of course, dear girl. I am sorry for your ordeal. I could not halt your father’s plans, but I did all I could to thwart their success. Severus has been in place for months, circumventing your father’s will, at my behest,” Dumbledore said.  
“Severus? But, he is my father’s Ghoul. He must obey him-why would he betray Father for you?” Pandora said.  
“Because, Professor Snape is first and foremost an Alchemist. He has caused much pain in his life, done so willfully and cheerfully. He has tortured his fellow human beings, to extract confessions for Tom Riddle. He is a man nursing great and terrible rage that he suffered at the hands of those who were meant to love and protect him when he was a vulnerable child, and that the world as we know it has no clear place for a man like him-half a Muggle, half a Wizard, connected to no great heritage or advantageous connection in our world, but with no skills or affinity for the world of Muggles. However, still and yet, when faced with the choice to take a life, he has never been able to actively do so. He chose to become a Healer of the highest degree. Beneath all of his rage at the very order of the universe, at his fellow man, and hatred of himself, there lies an instinct to preserve life,” Dumbledore said.   
“I don’t quite understand, Sir…” Pandora said, but before Dumbledore could elucidate, the impressive figure of Perrier Flamel entered the room, in his Alchemist robes, with his venerable gray hair.  
“Miss Black. I am delighted to see that tonight’s events did not deter you. That will be your mother’s blood, bearing out: Ada was indomitable,” Flamel said. “Did you procure the stone, my dear?”   
“Yes, sir…but, I don’t know if I should give it to you,” Pandora said.  
Flamel raised a gray eyebrow. “Oh?” he asked bemusedly.  
“Maybe I can devise a better way to keep it safe from the Dark Lord than all of you,” she said, not knowing what possessed her. Was it her aunt, her mother? She was not the girl who had been afraid to hold a wand, that was for sure.   
“You, and Mr. Potter?” Flamel said. “That is one possibility of many. I take it you don’t trust anyone, at the moment?”  
“You’re mocking me!” she cried.  
“No, I assure you, Pandora, I am not mocking you. Truly, I empathize. There seem to be precious few people to trust, these days. I have relied on myself…perhaps to an extreme degree,” he said, and seemed to be alluding to some private joke with Dumbledore. Everything he said was a private joke, judging by his calmly amused tone. It drove Pandora mad!  
“Albus…shall we tell her?” Flamel said.  
“I want to know everything! I deserve to know! You, my father, Professor Dumbledore, Severus…you all know something about me, you all have plans for me, but you keep it all secret from me! Have I no right to know about what concerns me?” she demanded.  
“My girl…it is bigger than you,” Flamel said decisively, shed of his piquant manner. “Far bigger. We are protecting you, but so also are we protecting the entire world.”  
“What shall you do with the Lapis?” Dora asked Dumbledore.  
“What I did with the last, when I had concocted the cure to Merlin’s Bane. The cure can be duplicated from itself, the Lapis is not needed, now,” Dumbledore said.  
“Why? Why destroy an object that can do such good in the world?” Pandora said.  
“It is capable of much. Not all would be construed as good,” Dumbledore said.  
“My mother used it to cure Dragon Pox!” Dora protested.  
“Yes. But, the stone, coupled with silphium, can create an Alchemist’s Object of great power, with immense capacity for destruction, called the Wand of Thoth. A weapon,” Flamel said. Dumbledore and Flamel could tell by her expression that she recognized the terms.  
“The Order voted on it, on its creation. My mother voted to create it,” She said.  
“Yes,” Dumbledore said. “Your mother was the daughter of a great general. She had grown up in the midst of her father’s campaigns against dark magic in Ethiopia, much as Catherine of Aragon watched her parents, Ferdinand and Isabella, prize Spain away from the Moors. She thought the Wand of Thoth was the key to annihilating Voldemort. I, however, differed in my view, and was loath to create the grounds for an arms race which would hold our world in perpetual tension, distrust, competition, and double dealing, as nuclear weapons have done the Muggle world. So, I resigned from my role as Presbyter in the Order.”  
“But, as it would turn out, Ada soon found herself in need of silphium for a different reason. Not to create a weapon, but to preserve your life, dear,” Flamel said tenderly. “She fell pregnant, the first success after many bitter attempts…but, Ada’s mother was Ill Wished by one of your grandfather, Sayid’s, enemies. Ada inherited the Ill Wish, at birth, and suffered poor health. Her pregnancy was killing you both, dear. We took drastic measures to save you, Ada, Regulus, Severus, and I. I stole from the Order. I took the substance they needed to create the Wand. I have been apostate ever since. But, I have ways of remaining free.”  
“Why did you do it, Sir?” Pandora asked.  
Flamel looked surprised that she would ask.   
“They were my students. I loved them, all. Yes, yes, I knew about Regulus’s and Severus’s political leanings, and entanglement with Tom Riddle. But, I hoped that as they continued their studies, they would come to be true men of science, with no biases. Because our role is to preserve life, and life has no biases. It is granted to us all, and we all must relinquish it. We are all shaped by life’s vicissitudes, the various shades of love, hate, and perhaps more indifferent forces, nature and time,” he said.   
“Thank you, Professor. Do you think the Order would still seek to create the Wand of Thoth?” Pandora asked.  
“That depends on the weapons that Lord Voldemort can be proved to possess,” Flamel said.   
“Does…he seek you?” Pandora asked.  
Flamel smiled, knowing that she feared for herself, and how his capture would impact her.  
“Oh, yes…and he has found me! In the Himalayas, in the Sahara…once, for my own amusement, I’m afraid, in the Cotswolds,” Flamel chuckled. “Facsimiles, my dear. I create alchemical, organic doubles of myself, and plant them here and there…”  
“Is this your true body?” Pandora asked.  
“I wouldn’t endanger you with the truth, my dear. I think you can appreciate, now, how dangerous the truth can be in the wrong hands,” Flamel said.


	62. Chapter 62

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dora places her trust in Flamel and Dumbledore; Sirius confronts Dumbledore; Harry learns the truth; James comforts Lily; Ginny stumbles upon a mystery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone! Enjoy, stay safe, and well:)

“Once again, Pandora, you find yourself without a wand,” Dumbledore said.  
“Yes, sir. I mustn’t be so careless,” Pandora said.  
Flamel chuckled. “Is it careless to lose thing which we have outgrown?” he said. “As a wizard’s magic progresses, they sometimes find that they have outgrown their wand.”  
“I had no idea! Professor Snape taught me a bit about wandlore…and he wanted to help me create my wand as part of the attunement that would make him my master,” Dora said.  
“A true master would be honest with you about their intentions,” Flamel said seriously.   
After all she’d gone through with Severus, this meant a lot for Dora. “Thank you, Professor,” she said. She looked into his mercury blue eyes and saw warmth there. It fully dawned on her that this man had been her mother’s mentor, and had given up his standing with the Emerald Order to save her life.  
Dora felt a pulse of pain in her head, and a wave of dizziness.   
“My dear, are you all right?” Flamel asked.  
“It must be the moly,” Pandora said. “Father gave it to me so that I can get into the vault. It was worth it-I got the stone.”  
“Do you trust us with it?” Dumbledore asked.  
“I trust it to be kept at Hogwarts,” Pandora said.  
“Very carefully and well-chosen words, Miss Black. You would do well to continue to put your faith in such things that will outlast the men who claim to be their stewards, possessors, and inheritors, for eons,” Dumbledore said. “Perrier and I underestimated your capacity to cope with the truth of your birth. We must earn your trust. But, Hogwarts is deserving of your trust, and it is more than up to the task of keeping your Lapis safe.”  
Dora took the Lapis on its chain off her neck, and placed it in Dumbledore’s hands.   
Harry and Sirius egressed into the office. Dora was alarmed at the sight of Harry-he was sweaty, and his dear, beautiful green eyes had a feverish luster.  
“Its true! Dora, you’re here!” he said.   
He broke away from Sirius, who had his arms around Harry’s shoulders to help him stand and ran to Dora. The chord between them flared, incarnadine red, ruby bright, as they kissed. She rested her hands on Harry’s shoulders, he wrapped his arms around her. She could smell his boyish sweat, it was as salty as the waters of Mermaid Bay. Somewhere in the world, Alkonosts sang, the ghosts of their families, Blacks and Potters, stood shoulder to shoulder behind the Veil, and the Bruce Springsteen song they’d danced to at Merlini’s was playing-she was sure of it.   
“Of course,I’m here, Harry,” she said breathlessly, when they broke apart to breathe.  
“Snape…” he began, but Dora shook her head.  
“No, I went through the Egress because my aunt told me to. Cordelia. Her ghost was in the tomb, she told me I could trust Dumbledore, to bring the Lapis to him,” she said, as Harry caressed her hair as if to prove that she was real.  
“Cordelia? My sister…she died when she was just 17. Complications of pregnancy. She and her baby, Ophelia, they both…” Sirius said, and then became too emotional to continue.   
Pandora locked eyes with her uncle. He had lost so much: his daughter, his sister, his niece. She felt so guilty-how could she not have understood how much the family he had now meant to him?  
“Uncle…Father is alive,” she said.  
“I know, darling. But, let’s worry about him later-if, at all,” Sirius said.  
Pandora laughed. She had not laughed in hours, perhaps days. It felt so good, like drinking fresh water after almost drowning on salty, brackish sludge. Harry allowed Sirius to steal Dora from his arms, and hug her.   
“This has been one Hell of a night, eh?” he said. Dora and Harry laughed more, mostly from relief, and nodded.  
“Uncle, where is Remus?” Dora asked.  
“He’s at Hagrid’s, with Robbie. He’s healing him up. My poor Moonchild-we’ve been rushing about, in London one minute, Scotland the next, and he forgot to take his meds for lycanthropy,” Sirius said.  
“What are his pack going to do without him to lead the run?” Dora asked.  
“Reginleif’s got it covered. She’s been a queen twice over, the wolves know her well,” Sirius said, of Ostrulf’s mother. “and her sisters, Kara and Lokabrenna, are no shrinking violets, either.”  
“Well, wolves seem to have no qualms about matriarchal power. The world of Wizards could take a leaf from their book!” Pandora said.   
“‘Matriarchal power’? You’ve been talking to Hermione,” Harry told Dora fondly, and to Sirius, said, “I hope he’s okay. Can we see him?”  
“Well, Harry, you should probably let Reemie rest. Robbie’s an expert in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and he can handle a grotty feeling, knackered werewolf who’s forgotten his night meds,” Sirius said. “You kids, you need to rest. Off to bed with you-but not the same bed, mind you!”  
“Of course not,” Harry said.  
“With a red chord between you two, the compulsion to be close physically must be…overwhelming, at times,” Flamel said, with a scientist’s curiosity. “Such rare magic!”  
“It saved me, tonight,” Pandora said. “I was able to tell Harry that my father was taking me to the City of Temples.”  
“Of course, Moony, Rob, and I were already on the way there,” Sirius said, slightly admonishingly.  
“Yes-I knew that the Lapis was in your family’s vault. Sirius was able to access the temple, but, my dear boy, I’m afraid that your estrangement from the family would have prevented you from actually opening the vaults within. When Severus alerted me of Regulus’s plans, I knew that he would take Dora, whom your mother declared heir before Walburga’s death, to the City of Temples. His intentions were to claim sanctuary with the Alchemists of the City of Temples, but I instructed Severus to thwart his master, and Egress Dora here, to me, instead of Heliopolis,” Dumbledore said.  
“Oh? Did you instruct him to propose marriage to my niece, too?” Sirius snapped, and he continued, “Albus…you’ve been like a father to me. But, now I know what its like to have young people in my care, and I don’t know if I would handle everything the way you have. We need the truth. Dora, Harry, they need to know everything you haven’t told them.”  
“Sirius,” Dumbledore said gently, “The truth may not be what you assume or prefer it to be.”  
Sirius looked surprised, then his expression recovered to one of curiosity.  
“By all means, whatever it is, we want to hear it. Is Voldemort a threat to my niece?” Sirius asked.  
“Your brother and his wife used silphium to strengthen Dora’s body, and the silphium has bonded with her bone marrow. Her blood, essentially, is silphium. Silphium’s abilities to heal and regenerate are almost panacea-like,” Dumbledore said. “Voldemort is interested in Alchemy most urgently, now, because he is cursed.”  
“Cursed?” Harry said, shocked.   
“Harry, you were targeted by Voldemort because of the day of your birth. It was prophesied by the women in Riddle’s group of Seeresses, the Volva, that he would be usurped by a wizard born on the day of the ascendancy of the Sign of the Phoenix, on the day that a comet passed. You were not the only boy born on that day, Harry-but, you are the last of them. Riddle had boys of magical blood born on that day slaughtered. Your parents had the advantage of belonging to the Resistance, and being warned in advance of the prophecy, and his plans. They hid. Your father was murdered,” Dumbledore admitted. “James Potter was a talented, kind-hearted, principled, loyal and constant man, with an inquiring mind. He gave all he had to the effort against dark magic, and he saved your life and, for a time, your mother’s life.”  
“She hid with Snape. He was the one who told the Resistance about the prophecy. He hid my mum in the Vale, when she was pregnant with my sister, Rose. Then, she ran with us, to the San Juan Islands, in America. He tracked her down…” Harry was shaking, and fighting back tears, and he exploded, “HE HUNTED HER DOWN! HE KILLED HER!”  
“My love,” Dora said.   
“Harry,” Sirius said, and they both stood close to him, stroking his shoulder haltingly.   
“Is it true, Professor?” Dora asked.  
“That is not my story to tell. It is Lily Potter’s, and I cannot deny her that,” Albus said sadly.  
“What?” Harry said sharply.  
“When a wizard turns 17, my boy, ghosts may appear to them. A charm protects your from seeing all but the most benign ghosts, until you come of age-those who stay on the earthly plan to protect, guide, and aid. When you come of age, however, the charm is lifted, and a ghost with a secret to impart, or unresolved strands of their life which are connected to your’s, may appear to you,” Flamel explained.  
“My mum…she’s going to come talk to me?” Harry asked, with awe and hope.  
“Yes. And your father. And, at that time, they will tell you their story. I failed them, Harry. I failed to keep them alive. But, I will not, in this matter, betray them,” Dumbledore said.   
“Is he after Dora? Because of her blood? Will he hunt her down, the way he did me and my parents? Is he after Flamel, too?” Harry asked.  
“He is cursed,” Dumbledore repeated. “Cursed, by his actions. Magic is a living web, that connects us all. Magic is aware, and it is my opinion that in seeking its own balance, it has a certain sense of….morality, of justice. Murder damages a wizard’s soul irreparably, and the sort of willful slaughter of innocents, fearing a younger and more powerful rival, that Tom Riddle committed has weakened his body, and, I believe, compromised the magical ability which he so values in himself. He would be interested in a substance like silphium, indeed, to cure the Curse of the Innocent Blood he suffers from. But, I will do my best, as headmaster of this school, and mayor of this castle, to shield Dora and Perrier, and the Lapis, from detection.”  
Dora looked at Harry. Her head ached, she felt faint, but she was also sharing his feelings, and he was pitched between stormy winds of wild hope and threatening turmoil. She felt ardently that she understood! She, too, was trying to uncover the truth about herself, and kept finding new discoveries as the lies rolled away like boulders. She rested her head on his shoulder and took his hand. He both melted into her and stood up a bit straighter. The emotions flowed between them in a constant wave, and Dora felt calmed and comforted, and sent this to Harry on the other side of the wave. Back, and forth, they tossed their love.   
“That’s a big job, Professor,” Harry said.  
“It is my duty, Harry,” Dumbledore said. 

The ghosts watched, and, satisfied by what they had heard, glided through the walls of Dumbledore’s office.  
“Well, that was gracious of Albus, I think. The kids shouldn’t hear your story from anyone but you, Lily,” James said lovingly, as they glided down the halls, holding hands.   
“I appreciate that,” Lily said, earnestly. “I just wish none of this had happened this way. I want to hold my babies…”  
James put his arms around Lily. “I know, darling. I know. You’ve been so strong. We just have to be strong for a bit longer, just a bit. Just think! Rosie’s birthday is in October, isn’t it? Love, you’ll be able to appear to her at the beginning of term, and we can help her with her homework in her last year at school…and Harry, we’ve only got a few more months to wait to talk to him,” he said.  
“Oh, Jamie…you have a golden heart,” Lily said.   
James smiled lovingly at Lily, the most gorgeous girl he had ever met, but also the smartest and the strongest, who had accepted nothing but the best from the people in her life. Becoming a stronger, better person, inspired by wanting to be in her life, had shaped the man he became. He wanted to return the favor, and give his wife the strength she needed.   
“Let’s go have a look at Rosie. She’s in Ron’s room, talking the night over,” James said.  
Lily smiled. “He’s a good brother to her,” she said.   
James nodded his agreement, and they floated to Gryffindor Tower.

Ginny couldn’t sleep. She was wired! She had flown in the wild night wind, through wet, low clouds, blinking to keep her vision from getting star dizzy. Then they landed in the City of Temples, and she had seen the necropolis of white marble monuments bordered by a black river. She had watched Harry, Snape, and Sirius duel, and she could still smell the magic, like firework ashes.   
“Is this what dueling Slytherin boys is like? Is it this exciting?” Ginny asked her brother.  
“It can be, for sure,” Ron said.  
“Aurors must feel like this all the time!” Ginny said.  
“Oh, one rescue mission and you reckon you should be an Auror? I guess I’ll have to patch you up, then, when I’m a trainee at St. Mungo’s,” Ron said.  
“Actually…look, don’t tell Mum, but…Sirius asked me to be his intern at the Guild. I was talking about what happened to Dad-” Ginny said.  
“Why would you do that? You know how tetchy Mum gets about her private affairs being out there!” Ron said. “Why would you talk about Dad?”  
“He’s my dad, I can talk about his life, and how he died, because we’re a family, and we shared life with him!” Ginny said heatedly, and continued, “Anyway, I was talking about it at Quidditch when Gryffindor beat Ravenclaw, and Sirius said I should come to the Guild with him. It would be unpaid, but…it could lead to things. I could even be an elected Member of the Guild, one day, if I keep going. Do you think it’s stupid?”  
Ron looked at his sister in astonishment. “What? No, Gin, I don’t think its stupid! I think politics is perfect for you! You’re loud, rude, bossy…”  
“Shut up!” Ginny said, and punched Ron’s arm.  
They laughed as he actually fell back a little, sitting on his bed. Ron grabbed Harry’s bedside table to steady himself, and photos from a manilla folder hit the floor with several slaps.  
Ginny and Ron scrambled to pick them up…but, with a weird feeling in her stomach and chest, she realized they were pictures of her…pictures she didn’t recall taking, of herself in a frilly white party dress, sitting under a tree, or by a rosebush in what looked like the yard of a nice, middle class Muggle house.  
She frowned, looking at the picture closer. No, of course that wasn’t her…Her hair was that shade of red, like bricks or cinnamon, but this girl had her hair curled in a rather outdated way, like actresses in films from decades before, and she wore a necklace Ginny knew she didn’t own, a silver crescent moon pendant called a lunula. Her party dress was white lace, prairie style, like an old prom dress. Ginny knew she owned no such thing, and such a dress could only be found at a vintage shop. Plus, this girl’s eyes were green, where Ginny’s were a dark brown that looked black in some lights.   
Still, she had never seen anyone who looked so much like her. In the Vale, it was assumed that all Weasleys looked alike, red hair and freckles. But, Ginny’s hair was dark, almost auburn except for highlights of vermilion flame that caught the light and spun it to fire, not carroty ginger like her dad and cousins, and her skin was fair, not freckled. She didn’t look like her mother, either, who had copper hair and round, expressive, warm blue eyes which Ron had inherited. She didn’t look like the other Weasleys…she looked like this girl in her white dress and lunula, in front of a Muggle house.   
“Who is this girl?” she asked.  
“Harry’s mum. Fortune gave him some pictures from his mother’s 16th birthday party,” Ron said.  
“Why does she look like me?” Ginny said.  
“You think she does? I don’t really think so,” Ron said.  
“Ron, are you blind?! Look at her hair…her nose, her mouth…I bet we’re the same height, and I bet I could wear her clothes…she tried to curl her hair, but it didn’t take quite right, I can tell it just waves the way it wants to, like mine…You’re sure this is Lily Potter?” Ginny said.  
“Yeah, who else’s mum would Harry be carrying around pictures of?” Ron quipped. “I dunno, Gin…the chin’s off, and she’s got green eyes. You don’t look that much alike.”  
If there was one feature of Ginny’s she hated, it was her chin-she thought it was too pointy. Still, she went to the mirror, and held Mrs. Potter’s picture up to her reflection. Ron didn’t want to believe it…but, in the mirror she saw the reflection of her brother’s face, and he was astonished.  
“Rosie...” Lily Potter whispered, standing beside her.   
She dared a kiss to the top of her daughter’s head, which Ginny could not feel.


	63. Chapter 63

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snape is visited by Ada's spirit; Draco learns a secret from Pyrite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snape's idea of Sirius is colored by dislike and jealousy, as is what he saw between Robbie and Sirius-it was 100% consensual, in case the way the scene is written from Severus's POV leaves any room for doubt.
> 
> Pyrite is based on a character that Rowling wrote in the first draft of Philosopher's Stone, then edited out, called Pyrites. I found a use for him;)  
> As always, enjoy and stay safe!

Severus woke to the whisper of his name, and lips ghosting across his cheek.  
“Robbie,” he whispered, and heard a soft, bemused feminine laugh.  
“Oh, dear. It is hard to gauge one’s appearance, in this form, but, I do hope I haven’t grown a beard,” she said.  
Severus sat up, wide awake, to the sight of Ada Vaillancourt Black standing by the bed where he slept, the bed where she had died hours after giving birth to Pandora. She was, like Lily, the same as he remembered her: long, tumbling black hair, black fire eyes like the obsidian she was rendered in at the City of Temples, and skin like dark honey. Seeing Ada again irrevocably burned away any notion he’d once had that it was her daughter that he loved. Pandora was just another echo of Ada. She was real, she was here, his savior, protector, Master, goddess.  
“Ada…may I touch you? I mean, can I, will you scatter?” Severus said.  
“Our energies were changed by the attunements we were given. This ghostly form is a bit more tenacious than others you may have encountered,” Ada said, obviously a sly reference to Lily.  
Lily was the brightest Gryffindor, Ada the most ambitious Ravenclaw girl. They had been in a dead heat for Head Girl, and many felt Lily only got the title because of Ada’s early departure from Hogwarts to study at the Emerald Order.  
Severus took her words as permission, and caressed her forearms, left bare by her dark blue taffeta gown. He practically moaned…this was Ada, this dark, warm silk skin, the fine, soft, downy hair lying gently over honey brown skin. His eyes met her’s.  
“You saved my daughter, once again,” she said.  
“I only did as Dumbledore instructed-it is him you should thank,” Snape said. “Pandora hates me, rightfully so. I…was not the teacher she needed, nor was I a friend. I was a….”  
Creep. Pervert. Nunce. He’d heard those insults a million times, ringing from doorways and alleys and weedy playgrounds in Spinner’s End, lobbed at men who ran out on their wives for young women who could be their daughters, or, worse, harmed their stepdaughters. It was that sort of neighborhood, where arguments spilled on the streets, then splinter arguments broke out if people alluded to what they had heard on the streets. Now, he was one of those men…no better than the men who drank at Robbie’s father’s house, and decided that Robbie and Branwen were another thing to help themselves to…  
“Severus, there is still hope. Where there is life, there is hope,” Ada said.  
“No, Ada…maybe when we were young, and I truly didn’t mean to curse James Potter so badly...but I have done worse than that since. I believed in him, Ada! In Voldemort. I thought he was powerful, I thought he would make the word of wizards fair and just…and, I thought I must serve him because he got rid of Dad, for me. I did black things for him. I poisoned people and watched them suffer, I wouldn’t give them the antidote until they told me what the Dark Lord wanted to know,” Severus confessed. “I performed the Cruciatus Curse…and, when that failed, I used cruder methods, things I had read about in the Muggle news, that Muggle espionage agents use in secret prisons. I made a study of pain, and I was Epicurean about it, Ada. I was a glutton for pain.”  
She merely nodded for him to continue.  
“I served people I knew had done vile, despicable things, even after the Dark Lord fell,” he said. “and when I met your daughter again…I wanted her, Ada. I wanted to be close to the last living part of you to be found on earth. I wanted you….”  
“Severus, I cannot excuse you, and it is not my place to forgive you. You must forgive yourself. And, while you live, you will have no peace unless you seek Harry’s, Dora’s, and Ginny’s forgiveness. I cannot promise that they will give it. But, you will die as you are now if you do not seek it,” Ada said. “I was so confused when I lived.”  
“You? Never! You were like a blade, Ada. Sharp, bright, finely crafted, fatally precise,” Severus said.  
“My friend, you speak of science…I speak of my heart. It was a weak heart. I never understood, how no matter how I excelled, Lily Evans dogged me constantly, always poised to overtake me. I knew my intellect to be superior. But, she has heart, in all she does. I was not brought up that way, to be open, warm, genuine. I was a great man’s daughter. I must never be weak. But, to be honest is not to be weak! I should have been honest. I loved a boy, the smartest boy in school, and he loved me, too. If I had been honest, how brilliant our lives together would have been, Severus! I made us less than what we should have been,” Ada said.  
“I love you, Ada. God, I love you. And our life was good…it was,” Severus insisted. “Heliopolis was good.”  
She caressed his face. “Yes, it was,” she said. “I thought I was doing my duty, marrying Regulus.”  
“I thought I was honoring and respecting you, by respecting your wishes,” Severus said.  
“We both thought too bloody much!” Ada said, and Severus laughed.  
“I still remember the first time I saw you,” Severus whispered. Ada came closer, and sat on the edge of the bed, the small space beside him as he lay on his side.  
“I remember the first time I saw you, too. You first,” she said.  
“You were with your mother, in Diagon Alley. It was the summer, right before 3rd year started. You were turning an astrolabe on display, and…I loved your hands. I loved your eyes, the way you looked at it, as it turned. My mother saw me, watching you. She said, ‘That’s Sayid Vaillancourt’s daughter-don’t be ridiculous,’ before I could talk to you,” he said.  
“What would you have said?” Ada asked.  
“I asked myself that so many times,” Severus said. “When did you…?”  
“Notice you?” Ada asked. “Oh, when you corrected Professor Slughorn about the 12 Uses of Dragon’s Blood. I’ll never forget the way you said, ‘I’m sorry, Professor, that’s not quite right’!”  
“Oh, I lived to regret it. He loathed me,” Snape said.  
Ada was laughing at the memory, and said, “Well, it took nerve, to be sure. We were 14, weren’t we? It was fourth year?”  
He nodded. The rest they remembered together, they didn’t need to speak: how they had truly become friends in Slughorn’s sparsely populated N.E.W.T class. With so many students not advancing after O.W.L.s, there was no need to seat students by Coven House, and Ada and Severus became lab and study partners. Regulus, who was seeing Remus, was relieved that his intended wife didn’t expect him to pay her any more attention as their wedding approached and had Severus to preoccupy her. His other Slytherin “friends”, however, Hector Mulciber and Mostyn Avery, underhandedly reminded him that a girl like Ada would never be serious about a half-blood like him. As for his Cokeworth friends, Remus was busy with Regulus, and his Gryffindor friends, Lily was galled that Severus had become so close to her rival, and Robbie was more hurt than he had realized, betrayed after all those kisses in their summer nest.  
But, none of it mattered when he was with Ada. Hours rolled like a lazy river between them, studying together in the library. She was as hungry for knowledge as he was, and their minds were compatible. Her curiosities always answered his, and between them they wildly conjured hypotheses in conversations that felt like they had never ended.  
He had been so happy…until returning to his room in the Slytherin dorm and finding Robbie beneath Sirius Black, who looked triumphantly and unrepentantly aroused and blissful as he roughly rolled his slender hips against Robbie, who gripped the sheets of his bed and had a pained, desperate look on his face, panting as his stomach grazed the sheets, his hips rolled back against Sirius, and his knees threatened to buckle.  
‘Not him,’ Severus’s whole body cried out.  
Not that beast, who had singled him out from day one for his Northern accent and mocked him, who had dubbed him Snivellus and made him a laughingstock…now, he was blithely making love to Robbie, who was vulnerable and wounded, who deserved better.  
“Join in, or shut the bloody door, Snape,” Sirius had panted, and his fake London street accent made poisoned flowers bloom in Severus’s brain.  
Sirius was as posh as they came, but he loved the allure of working class heroes and rebel movements-he wore punk band tshirts that just peaked out from beneath the lazily done buttons and askew tie of his uniform, and he and Robbie had encountered each other in the same dives to see bands that spit on their audiences, who spit back and hurled bottles. He was such a phony.  
When he cornered Sirius in the corridor, he meant to rip him to pieces….but, that dolt James Potter, who was not as cruel but every bit as spoiled as Sirius, got between them trying to make peace.  
Lily, tearfully, came out of the hospital wing from visiting Potter, and her emerald green eyes showed him the weight of what he had done.  
“Oh, God, you should see him…how could you do that to someone, Sev?” Lily said. “You created that spell?”  
“It was…a joke,” he had said, and it was.  
His mother had taught him Latin. A Healer must know medical terminology, which was in Latin, and his mother wanted a Healer for a son. With his command of the language, Avery and Mulciber often asked him to create new spells out of words…things they could use in scuffles with Gryffindors. Sectumsempra had flown to his mind, when faced with Sirius Black, but he had never used it before that moment.  
“A…JOKE?! Dark magic is a joke? James Potter almost bled to death!” she said.  
“Then he should have let me at Black! I’m so sick of that smug, arrogant, entitled bastard! People think he’s so….so… but he’s cruel! He’s always been cruel! But I can take it, being jinxed, being laughed at, but Robbie…Robbie is….fragile..” he said.  
“They’ve been dating off and on for months,” Lily said. “and you’ve got Ada, so you’ve no right to be jealous.”  
“That was not dating! He was…he was…as if he had the right to…I couldn’t let him…” Severus sputtered, unable to put into words how wrong it looked to see Sirius with Robbie like that, possessing him, dominating his smaller body the way he dominated the school with his wild, volatile, changeable personality, good looks, athletic prowess and dark family history wild with legends to speculate about. Robbie, who had been his to protect since the junkyard in Cokeworth.  
Lily sighed. “What do you want, Sev? Who do you want? Do you love Ada, or Rob? Do you want to be a Healer, or a…Death Eater?”  
“How do you know that word, Lil?” Severus had asked. The name of Tom Riddle’s secret guard, the followers of his magical philosophy and most trusted confidantes, was not widely circulated at that time.  
“I’m a prefect-I hear things. I hear things about you, and your Manticore friends. You have some choices to make. We’re about to graduate, and the wizard you’re turning out to be isn’t a man I want to know,” Lily said, and strode off with decisive indignation.  
Ada sat by a Hufflepuff girl called Zosime Woodmansee in class the next day, and he’d thought she shunned him, too…but she passed him a note that said merely, “Lake.” By the water, she listened, as he told her his side of the story. Even though he hated what he did, didn’t know if he was going to be expelled or charged with dark magic and sent to Azkaban, the fearsome fortress he had warned his friends about so many times, being listened to by Ada’s dark eyes had been the biggest comfort he had ever received-it was as if a saint on a candle or altar idol had come to life and visited him. He knew he had Ada in his corner…but, soon after his father died, and Severus knew that it was no accident. His dark wish had come true, and the Dark Lord was behind it-the dark wizard he had so admired possessed him, from then on.  
“It’s Pandora’s birthday. I must go to her,” Ada said, breaking him out of his reverie. She caressed his hand, and he hugged her, and held her close. As they broke apart, Ada’s dark fire eyes met his, and she reminded him,  
“Life is hope, Severus. You can be forgiven, if you seek it.”

Pyrite made good on his promise to keep Draco out of the Hypatia incident, from what he could discern, nor did Pyrite suffer from a loss of his Lord’s favor. He and Draco were in the library once, more, Draco’s former favorite room in Malfoy Manor, and they had been practicing the Cruciatus Curse. Draco wondered if the old, mad, Dark wizard really was a species of fond of him-the man had let him ‘Crucio’ him a dozen times or more, in practice, before gracefully calling a short recess.  
“Master, the Dark Lord holds you in great esteem,” Draco remarked.  
It never hurt to try to get a little background on key players: maybe there was something to why Voldemort valued Pyrite enough to overlook such a major error.  
“Loyalty is key in the Dark Lord’s service, Draco. He can be merciful, if he knows your intentions are not muddied by personal interest. That you are totally faithful to his vision. If that is so, he can forgive momentary weakness,” Pyrite said.  
Well, nothing new or unique, there. He wanted total loyalty, to the point that a man had no will of his own. Not exactly breaking news.  
“Now, your father…he will perhaps truly never earn Our Lord’s grace again, for what he has lost,” Pyrite said.  
‘Oho!’ Draco thought. He might be able to use this, if not the Order of the Phoenix.  
“Lost? What has he lost? Something valuable?” Draco asked.  
“The Dark Lord’s heir,” Pyrite said.  
Draco really was gobsmacked, there.  
“Heir? Riddle had a son?” Draco said.  
“How queer that you don’t remember, Draco! You two were raised as brothers!” Pyrite said.  
“I never had a brother!” Draco said.  
He certainly would have remembered that, and life would have been different, if Draco had a brother who could be the heir that Lucius wanted, the swashbuckling, debonair, dapper, future Member of the Guild who didn’t have shortness of breath, migraine headaches, or vertigo after every Quidditch game. He wouldn’t have minded being eclipsed in his father’s favor, his brother could have it, while Draco tried on his mother’s ice rose fragrances and Avalon pearls. There were two sorts of Mollies-the kind like Ron, who looked like dock workers who unloaded Faerie ships, thick arms, strong jaw, smelled like manly musk and sweat, and kissed hard like they couldn’t wait to get you off the dance floor. Then, there were the Mollies who wore finery that would make his mother’s friend Venetia Candlesnow look like a poor widow, and walked in the Promenade with pride and sass. They walked, dressed, talked, and even lived as women, and took female names.  
There were women who did the same, that dressed in dapper suits, dueled, gambled, and kept a sharp eyed, perfumed courtesan on their arm, blithely living as men, living like libertines-they were called Dandies.  
Draco was the sort of Molly who wanted to truly live as a woman, and never look back at all that made a man, the performance he could never nail. How would Ron like that, he wondered? Ron wasn’t a bit shy about what he wanted, and years of helping his father with carpentry, and his cousins with the stables and home farm at the manor had made him very at home with his body. Would he still groan when they kissed, and grab Draco’s hips and bottom? Would he still want him?  
If he had a brother, he’d be free.  
“His name was Asterion,” Pyrite said. “He was the Dark Lord’s chosen, not natural, heir. A prophecy said he would grow to be a great wizard, so Our Lord took an interest in the boy.”  
Another prophecy…for a wizard who made such a to-do about being well travelled and having studied extensively, Tom Riddle was woefully superstitious.  
“Well, what was he doing here?” Draco said.  
“Stroppy, are we? At the idea of sharing your fortune? Well, that is probably what motivated your father to unload the boy he had been entrusted to foster. You see, your foolish, vain mother wanted him to marry her niece, the heiress of the House of Black,” Pyrite said. “Your father didn’t want you to be cheated…and so the boy handpicked to succeed the Dark Lord disappeared. Your father will never be able to recompense for that.”  
This was worth telling the Order in his next letter, Draco said. He would tell them about the Brides in the secret passageways, and the Dark Lord’s heir.


	64. Chapter 64

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robbie has hard questions for Remus; Dora regroups; Harry confides in Sirius

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As we approach 2,000 reads, my heart is full of gratitude to everyone who has read, left kudos, and comments. Returning to the world of the Coven Wars has been so rewarding for me, in many ways, and I would like to develop original material in this universe in future. Stay tuned for more developments on that, and for more of Pandora's journey.

“Thank you for breakfast, Hagrid,” Remus said, tucking into salty eggs that he didn’t think came from a chicken’s egg-something about their color and texture. “I’m sorry for what you must’ve seen, last night,” he added, embarrassed.  
The half-giant smiled warmly at him over the raw wooden kitchen table.  
“Don’t take on, so, Remus. But, maybe you better get one of them pill cases, with the days written on ‘em and such?” Hagrid said.  
Remus felt even more embarrassed and nodded heartily in agreement with Hagrid’s suggestion while stuffing more salty eggs in his mouth. Robbie sat up on the nest of spare blankets and suspect furs upon which he’d slept on Hagrid’s floor, seeing Remus through the night. He had been touched by this-in years of abscence, he had forgotten just what a loyal friend Robbie could be. Growing up, he had the air of someone just waiting to be told what to do, and Severus had been happy to play the captain among them, the only one with a witch for a mother, who had grown up perusing the grimoires Mrs. Snape kept hidden from her husband, and learning Latin and Potioncraft. But, Robbie wasn’t a mindless follower: he was loyal, and maybe a bit of a martyr, though he was a wanderer, too.   
“’Mornin’, all,” he said. He’d slept shirtless, and as he woke, he pulled on his white undershirt. His shirt and Burberry trench were slung over one of Hagrid’s handmade chairs. “What’s for brekky, then?”   
“Eggs,” Hagrid said. “And a moon melon, if ya go out and pick one.”  
“Sure. Reemie, fancy some sunshine in the garden?” Robbie asked.  
Remus stood up and followed Robbie to Hagrid’s wild garden of magical fruits and vegetables. The smell of dewy leaves, earth, and fruit rose in the cool morning air. The sun was bright and gentle, and its rays lovingly graced Remus’s body. It wasn’t the worst moon he had faced, but he was older now, than when he first started to transform, before the alchemical breakthroughs that had led to the medication that he took to minimize the intensity of the change. He felt fatigued and foggy-minded and unsteady on two feet. He wanted to slink off into the forest and chase the scent of deer that he was picking up on.   
“Rough night. How’d you feel now?” Robbie asked.  
“Grateful. Thank you, Robbie. If you hadn’t been there, who knows, I could have torn off and harmed someone,” Remus said.  
Robbie waved his hand, dismissing the possibility. “You ain’t got it in you. Transformations don’t touch the soul, man. You change, but you don’t change,” he said.  
Remus wasn’t sure that was true, but he was glad that Robbie believed in him.   
“How does it feel, knowing that Regulus is out there?” Robbie asked.  
Remus sighed. He did not feel human enough to have this conversation. He felt that he would never be human enough to have this conversation. When he thought of Regulus being alive…it hurt with the same intensity that he had felt when he was young, and he and Regulus had first broken up. At the time Remus had been so young and so unsure of his place in the world. Werewolves did not go off to be successful members of the Wizarding World. They lived like roaming animals in the wild or did odd and filthy jobs for richer wizards. Remus would never be able to go to college and become a Professor. And he would never be loved by the boy whose very heart he was connected to.   
“Robbie, I don’t think I have the words to talk about Regulus.” Remus admitted.  
Robbie nodded. He reached into the pockets of his blue pants and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He snapped his fingers and a small flame appeared, and he lit up. “Never easy, is it? Talking about the people who hurt you, but you still go around loving them like an idiot.”  
Remus casted a glance at Robbie. Yes, of course Robbie would understand. He had loved Severus with the same tender heart that Remus had loved Regulus. Both Severus and Regulus had chosen the same woman to devote their hearts to—Ada. How had Remus never put this together, this shared pain they carried so silently?   
“I have never felt like an idiot for loving Regulus.” Remus said. “I feel like… like I should have known that he would have chosen someone else in the end. He had been honest with me, hadn’t he? Every time he talked about Sirius bringing shame on the family and restoring the Black family honor… did I really think that he could do that with a lovesick werewolf trailing behind him?”  
“Hmm.” Robbie grunted, an encouragement to go on.  
Remus leaned against the gate to the melon patch. “He was honest, and I didn’t listen, because I wanted to be cherished like no man had ever cherished my mother. Or because… because I had read too much about red strings of fate and thought that not even Regulus could choose honor over that.”  
“It wasn’t honor he chose,” Robbie said around the cigarette in his mouth.  
He took a drag, exhaled a plume of curling smoke, and he and Remus watched it dance and disintegrate.   
When his lungs were clear, and the smoke was gone, he continued, “It wasn’t honor that he chose, really. Honor’s somethin’ else, innit? All about keeping your word and living by a moral code-you know, Gryffindor stuff.”  
Remus gave a bemused smile at the gentle jab at his house. Unlike Sev and Lily, Robbie and Remus had never let Coven pride get in their way.   
“In a way, I suppose,” Remus said. “I find it hard to reason for Reggie….to explain how he was thinking, back then…but, he always spoke of honor.”  
“And he might have convinced himself that it was honor, but it was for himself,” Robbie said. “Regulus tried to pave his own path, while worshipping two gods: you, and his mother. He toed the line just enough so the Death Eaters and the Purebloods would be appeased, and he could keep you on the side. In the end, Ol’ Reg was as conventional as they come.”  
Remus knew that Robbie wasn’t trying to hurt him. He was nothing if not honest. Perhaps that was why the dead loved him so-in the absence of lying to himself, he could hear their faint voices clearly.   
“Well, let’s not keep Hagrid waiting,” Remus said.  
Robbie extracted his athame from his pocket and cut a melon from its vine.

Pandora splashed water on her face and then dried it with a Ravenclaw blue towel. She looked at herself in the mirror. She had brown skin and long, wild, curly hair that fell like rampant vines, like her mother…but that was it. Her eyes, lips, nose, the imperious tilt of her chin, and even her eyebrows, she now knew that she shared and had inherited them from Regulus Black.   
He didn’t want her. He didn’t love her, even if he thought he did. How can you abandon someone you love, hide from them, all their life? She refused to cry again, as she had off and on all night, once waking Cressida, who implored to know what was going on, asked if she’d had a row with Harry, if Draco was ill, if her aunt was ill, all of which Dora truthfully insisted were not the case and that Cressida should go back to sleep. Finally, she did, and Dora wept as silently as she could until she, too, fell asleep, blanketed in love and warmth from Harry’s end of the chord. She felt like he slept beside her.   
“Pandy, how long are you going to pretend that everything’s just peachy, as if I didn’t listen to you cry all night long? That, and today is Sunday- don’t you spend weekends at your uncle’s house?” Cressida interrogated when Pandora left their shared lavatory.  
Pandora sat on her bed. She was dressed in jeans and Harry’s Gryffindor Quidditch sweater.   
“Cressie...I met my father,” she said. “He’s not dead.”  
Cressida looked at her in genuine shock. “Your father? Regulus Black?! Where? How?”  
Pandora left out the bits about the Lapis, and Castle Arianrhod, but felt free to tell the rest: that Regulus had been a Vampire all these years.  
Cressida sat beside Pandora on her bed, and said, “Pandy, you know that nothing your father does is your fault? Really. He’s his own man, and you are your own person. Its not your duty to please him, nor should you feel that his mistakes, no matter how they hurt you, came about because of you, somehow.”  
“Everything could have been different. We could have been a real family,” Pandora said. “Even without Mother, he could have raised me. Are there no nannies, no governesses, no wet nurses? He certainly had the money. There was no impediment but disinterest, from what I can see.”  
“Men don’t feel things the way that women do,” Cressida said, and Pandora knew she meant it sympathetically, but it felt unsatisfactory. It didn’t explain her father’s actions, or make her feel any better.   
Cressida hugged her, perhaps knowing that her words had failed, and that there were no words, really.  
Pandora sighed. She wanted to think about something else. Kashmira entered the room.   
“What’s wrong?” she asked. Pandora could hear an implied, ‘this time?’.  
“Just a silly row with Harry,” Pandora lied.  
“A real one, this time? Well, this is why I don’t date Gryffindors-altogether too stormy! You’re still wearing his sweater, so it can’t be that bad,” Kashmira said briskly, as she brushed her hair in the mirror. “So, want to go down to the lake after breakfast, and study? The siren and Alkonost song helps me to concentrate. It must be ASMR.”  
“What’s that?” Pandora asked.   
“Tingles you get from soothing noise. Its proven by Muggle science,” Cressida said.  
“Oh, is that what they study?” Pandora said.  
The three girls laughed. Pandora felt slightly better.   
“If you’re still undercover, I suggest that you take that off, and sit with Blaise Zabini at breakfast. He’s both displeased and intrigued at the way you ran out on him in the village, from what I hear,” Kashmira said.  
“Oh, Kash, you’re quite right!” Pandora said, and felt guilty that she had forgotten Sarah Applethwaite in the mire of her own troubles.   
Cressida was right, Regulus was his own man, and he’d made his choices. It was people like Sarah who needed thoughts and effort turned to them, the obscure, powerless, and vulnerable. Trusting the wrong person was all it took for Sarah to lose her fragile chance at a future, albeit a future that looked much like her day to day life, already: respectably toiling for the luxury of others, while she herself had little time or money at her leisure. It was all their current world had to offer her, but she had lost even that by trusting Deverell Eastling. Was she in confinement, pregnant with Deverell’s child, or had she been sold in what Hermione called a ‘Boyfriend Scam’?   
As Vesta had cried, Dora wondered naggingly, ‘Where is she?’  
“Here, borrow this, Pandy. I keep a few Vale things, you know, for when I visit my cousins who live round here. I’ll have to go to Madam Arklow’s, have something made up for the Tarletons’ Liberalia ball,” Cressida said.  
“You’re going?” Pandora asked.  
“Why, yes! With my cousin, Gerald. He’s going to come round, pick me up, it will be like a fairy tale-except for him being my cousin. Oh, no offense, I mean, you and Draco always made a lovely pair,” Cressida said.  
“Cressie, don’t. Really,” Pandora said. “I have to go round to Madam Arklow’s too. D’you think you could…play along, with me?”  
Cressida’s blue eyes lit with eagerness. “Ohh…you mean, this caper Harry Potter’s got you on?”  
“The Manticore?” Kashmira asked.   
“Yes,” Pandora said, and lay the story of Sarah Applethwaite before them.  
“Oh, dear God. A boyfriend scam? Selling girls? I hope this once, Hermione Granger is wrong,” Kashmira said.  
“Well, men do treat Squib girls abominably. No wonder most of them slip in amongst Muggles-it’s a fresh start, and they bloody well need it,” Cressida said. “What do you need me to do?”  
“We’ll just go in, have dresses made, and ask for a girl called Sarah. We’ll say that she did a dress we admired on our friend, and we’d like to request her, that sort of thing,” Dora said.  
“Not rocket science, and it shouldn’t put any backs up. If Sarah had a friend amongst her co-workers, they might tell you a bit about where she went and what she’s doing now, if you can break the ice just so,” Kashmira said.  
“You can come along, too, Kash,” Dora said.  
“I’m a pretty obvious Muggleborn, Dora,” Kashmira said with benign wryness.  
Dora shed Harry’s sweater and jeans for the muslin dress Cressida had lent her. She refused to wear a bloody bonnet. Pandora put on satin slippers and her shawl, and she and her friends left the tower. She was surprised to see her uncle, in a floor trailing velvet coat, talking with Harry beside a window depicting the Druid bard, Taliesin, an angelic looking young boy. His hands were on Harry’s shoulders, and he was giving him a paternal, exhorting sort of talk, by the look of it.  
“Harry!” Pandora said, and ran to him.   
He turned to her, and gathered her hungrily in his arms. Why had she not gone to him? Hermione was right, Ravenclaws were too timid. From now on, Dora swore that she would do away with that. He was so warm, and Dora felt like a nymph she had read about in a book at Malfoy Manor, who fell in love with the sun and leaned towards him until she became a sunflower, who could spend the rest of her days being warmed by him. His arms were thin, but strong, and his chest and stomach were firm…and all of him was so warm. Harry pressed his face into her hair, and she rested her head on his shoulder, drinking in the smell of him-soap, and the grass of the Quidditch pitch.   
Sirius cleared his throat, loudly, drawing their attention.  
“I had the funny feeling that I was being overlooked. But, I’m sure I was wrong,” he quipped dryly.  
Harry laughed.  
“Of course I hadn’t forgotten you, Uncle!” Pandora laughed. “You saved me!”  
“Me? From what I recall, I shot a few sparkles at Snivelly and got stunned by four teenagers. You saved yourself, Dora,” Sirius said. “If you had any help last night, it was from Cordelia. We may keep the festivals and all, you know, to the old gods, but it’s the stars that always had meaning to me. I feel as if the stars…are where we go, after- the life beyond. That they rather look down on one.”  
“The ancestors,” she said.  
“Cordelia, her daughter, Ophelia, and Belphoebe-they watched over you, and helped you,” Sirius said.  
“Cordelia, Ophelia, and Belphoebe,” she said ardently. “I wish they could live as I do now. Have the life that I have.”  
“Just by being yourself, here, now, you’re setting the past right, dear,” he said. “But, what the Devil are you wearing? You look like the cover of a novel on someone’s bedside.”  
“Dora and I are going to tea with my Aunt Marcella,” Cressida lied swiftly. “She loves to see a well turned out girl, and she’d split hairs if Dora or I showed up in blue jeans!”  
“I can well imagine,” Sirius said. “You’ll be changing in the carriage, then?”  
“A quick glamour, you know,” Cressida said.   
He smiled bemusedly. “My sister used to pull that trick, all the time-she became quite adept at concealment, to cover up the things she used to do to her hair,” he said. “She had a Joan Jett phase. Well, anyway, Dora, be careful in the village, stay close to your friend, here, be vigilant, and keep your wand ready, all right?”  
“Yes, Uncle,” Pandora said.   
“I’ll be just round the corner, at the bookshop, all right?” Harry said.  
Dora nodded. She kissed Harry and Sirius both on the cheek, and she, Cressida, and Kashmira continued on their way. 

Harry and Sirius stood under the Taliesin window, morning sunshine illuminating the face of the boy Seer, the Druid poet.  
“How’s Remus?” Harry asked.  
“Sleeping it off,” Sirius sighed, and Harry saw and heard how tired he was. He felt guilty, and keenly pricked at the idea that anything would happen to Sirius. Sirius continued, “He’s heartily embarrassed about not taking his meds.”  
“He shouldn’t be. It was a crazy night. And, I know that’s down to me…I’m sorry, for lying about why we were going to Wiltshire,” Harry said.  
“I know, Harry, I know. And, I shouldn’t have blamed you for Dora’s disappearance. I know just who to blame-my idiot brother, who’s apparently been stalking the night for over a decade like a low budget Lestat,” Sirius said.  
“You had no idea?” Harry asked.  
“None! I mean, he was always a little oddball with his experiments and such. He’d be up in his room for hours making notes on a hypothesis or trying something out. I was more into…energy,” Sirius said.  
“Like you said my dad was,” Harry said, with a fond smile. Sirius smiled, too.  
“Oh, yeah. Jamie turned me on to quantum physics, bioenergetic fields, relativity, all that. Not so different from Transfiguration, really,” Sirius said. “But, invisible materials weren’t of interest to Reg. He liked to get his hands on whatever it was he was experimenting with, so, there we differed. But, no, I had no indication that he’s been alive, all this time, until you kids told us.”  
“Snape’s his Ghoul,” Harry said.  
“Snape’s always been a bloody Ghoul,” Sirius said.   
“I mean, he…serves Regulus,” Harry said.  
“Yeah, spotted that, rather,” Sirius said. “What else did you find out?”   
Harry sighed. How could he explain the Castle Arianrhod without sounding like he’d driven out to the countryside to do a hallucinogenic drug? But, Sirius was openminded, and a veteran of the first war against Riddle…and the closest thing Harry had to a father. He’d regretted it instantly when Remus and Sirius tried the first time to explain the Wizarding World to him, and he’d ran off. When Hagrid came to collect him from the Orphanage, and took him to Diagon Alley in Londinium, he’d asked to be taken to Between Scylla and Charybdis, Remus’s and Sirius’s antique shop.   
“I knew you’d come round,” Sirius had said simply, and welcomed him into his and Remus’s life.   
Harry told him about the Princes, and his grandfather, and the heroes at the long table beneath the window of Melusina, and his connection to Voldemort through her bloodline.  
When Harry was done Sirius put his hands on his shoulders, and his gray eyes met Harry’s and held them.  
“Harry, I’ll tell you what Dumbledore told me: the truth is not always what we would prefer or assume it to be,” Sirius said. “No matter what you saw out there, don’t believe anything just yet, okay?”   
They looked up, and saw Dora approaching them, coming downstairs framed by her friends, wearing a long, thin, floaty white dress. Harry could see nothing but her, and time slowed around her as she walked towards them. The light winked eagerly behind the Taliesin window, waiting to grace her. Harry’s heart filled with love, like dawn breaking. He'd felt her pain in the light, and sent her as much love as he could. Now, he saw that love returned in her eyes.


	65. Chapter 65

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and his friends prepare to enact their plan; Ginny accepts Ptolemy's help, but faces pressure from Roger; Lily and James discuss Ginny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Stay safe, and stay well!

“Can you come with me to post a letter?” Hermione asked, as Harry walked into the Gryffindor common room  
“Um….” Harry said.  
“Um?” Hermione challenged.   
He sighed, and admitted, “I was actually on my way to the village. From what I picked up when Dora ran into me and Sirius, her and Cressida Beverley are going full steam ahead with questioning the dressmakers at Madam Arklow’s. I sort of wanted to be in place at the bookshop around the corner.”  
“Oh, yes, of course,” Hermione said. She tucked the letter back into her book satchel, and said, “It can keep for a few hours, its only France.”  
“France?” Harry said. “Not Ecuador?”  
Hermione smirked mysteriously. She had been keeping mum on whom she was writing to, but Harry had had a feeling that Graciela from Ecuador had been displaced in her affections. Now, he had proof-she had been writing someone in France.   
“I’ll go get Ron,” Hermione said, and they headed up the stairs…to be nearly knocked down by a cinnamon redheaded blur Harry knew to be Ginny.  
“Oy!” he said, in half playful outrage. At least she was being her usual high spirited, rough and tumble self, recovering from the shock of being possessed by Voldemort.  
Or, he had thought so, until she gave him a piercing look. She looked as if she would speak, but then said nothing and continued on her way.  
“What was that?” Harry said.  
Hermione paused thoughtfully, and then said, “I don’t know…but, she looked rather guilty, didn’t she?”

Ginny had never stolen anything before, and she now saw just how many lucrative opportunities she had been presented with and passed up. As a young child, she hadn’t understood how different her and Ron’s lives were, and would grow to be, from the Malfoy children, and they all played together in innocence. Anthea, Dora…and Draco loved to ransack Madam Malfoy’s things. Married when she was just 14, she was young and notably glamorous, then, and still had new clothes made up on the whims of fashion or her own vision so frequently she forgot her own inventory.   
Ginny had never been told that she couldn’t take anything home, and they were fine things-goblin-wrought silver combs, brushes, and mirrors, fragrances made of faerie flowers, gloves, hats, scarves and other accessories made of fine Summerland silk, and jewelry made of precious gems mined from the ice caverns of Winterland. She had always known that things like that were meant to stay in a place as grand as Malfoy Manor, and so she had left them there.   
Because she had never stolen, she had never known the exhilarating thrill of success nor the guilt of detection that she felt now. She had stolen the pictures of Mrs. Potter, but she didn’t know what she would do with them. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were always solving some sort of mystery, on some sort of caper-a weeping portrait, a ghost appealing to find a lost heirloom, where a shifting staircase terminated, what was hidden in a forbidden chamber….but, Ginny had no idea where to begin with all that. She had stolen the pictures more out of kinship than burning curiosity. There was certainly a mystery afoot, but what was more important to her was that, finally, she looked like someone.   
Lily Potter had her hair, her face, her build…Ginny didn’t recognize herself in any of her many relatives in the Vale, and she didn’t share their temperament, either. She knew that she wasn’t a merry, bonny, pleasing sort of girl. She was wild, and she could be stormy, but she also liked to be alone for long stretches of time, to study, fly her broom, and think. She knew her aunts had complained to her mother, and some of her cousins didn’t like her very much…Ginny felt different.   
She went to the library, and spread the pictures of Lily out on a table, just to scrutinize them closer.   
“Ginevra! You look lovely in white-like the Virgin Queen,” said Ptolemy Fanshawe. “my ancestor served her, you know. Actually, he cursed her.”  
“With smallpox?” Ginny asked.  
“With spinsterhood,” Ptolemy said.  
“Blokes get nasty when they’re rejected, don’t they?” Ginny asked.   
“Well, I’d rather say the jinx repelled; by all accounts, she preferred her freedom,” Ptolemy said.  
“That’s not me, though. In the pictures, in the white dress,” Ginny said.  
“No?” Ptolemy said. “Hmm…well, we used to take baths together, Ginevra, so I think I can be trusted quite far on the matter of what you look like-and that girl looks a Hell of a lot like you.”

Ginny blushed. She’d forgotten that they used to bathe together like baby Sirens in the polished porcelain bathtubs of Malfoy Manor, in Madam Malfoy’s jasmine scented soap. Ginny looked Ptolemy up and down. She was dressed in a Hufflepuff boy’s uniform, and the slacks, shirt, and tie fit her thin frame elegantly-she looked very much a boy, and very feminine, too, like a Muggle singer Sirius and Remus liked called David Bowie. She was tall and lithe, elegantly elvish, and with her hair cropped short for her disguise, she looked just like Draco. Where Draco always had a forbidding expression on his face, however, Ptolemy’s eyes danced with wit and joie de vivre. She had eyes like opals, pale in color but twinkling with other colors that wouldn’t stay still.   
“These are pictures of Harry’s mother, Lily Potter,” Ginny said.  
“Oh, the Fairchild?” Ptolemy said idly.  
Fairchild was a term for Muggleborn wizards that hearkened back to the belief that they were blessed by the faer folk. Some Muggleborns even abandoned their original surname and changed it to ‘Fairchild’.  
“What a beautiful creature she was! And, she does look just like you,” Ptolemy added.   
“Well, the chin’s off, and her eyes are green,” Ginny admitted, “but, the rest…I’ve never looked like someone, before. Not like this.”  
Ptolemy frowned in thought, and one of her neat, pearly teeth pressed into her lip, which was, Ginny thought, the very color of the belly of certain honeysuckles, a tender pink.  
“What do you know about Lily Potter?” Ptolemy asked.  
Ginny shrugged. “Nothing, really. She was in the resistance, in the Order of the Phoenix, in the first war; she went to Hogwarts; she was a Muggleborn,” she said.  
“Want to find out more?” Ptolemy said.  
“Do you think we could?” Ginny said.  
Ptolemy laughed, and raised her hands as if to catch the rain, gesturing to all that was before and around them.   
“This is a library!” she said. “That’s what it’s for!”  
“All right, all right,” Ginny laughed. “hush, now.”  
Ptolemy lowered her arms. “Well, then let’s begin. Come along, Ginevra!”  
Ginny giggled. No one ever called her by her whole name. She followed Ptolemy, who was fluidly running through the stacks, up to the desk where the keen eyed librarian, Madam Pince, sat at her desk.  
“Excuse me, Ma’am-we’re doing a project on notable Muggleborn witches of the 20th century, and I was wondering if you have any books that mention Lily Potter? Harry Potter’s mother?” Ptolemy said.  
“ ‘Harry Potter’s mother’, she says. Why, she was not always Lily-Potter-Harry-Potter’s-Mother, you know!” Madam Pince said indignantly. “She was Lily Evans when she attended this school, and she was a very clever girl! She was Head Girl, you know!”  
“She must have been very clever, indeed,” Ptolemy said.   
“Neat handwriting. Never dripped ink on a book or a sign out card. Never abused or defiled a book. I began allowing her to take out as many books as she wanted in her third year-the limit, as you know is three. But, she was so….respectful, of books,” Madam Pince all but swooned. She recovered her, and said, “But, unfortunately, scholarship on Mrs. Potter is woefully lacking! Her work with the Order of the Phoenix, and school career, are overshadowed by the tragedy of her death at the hands of Magister Tom Riddle. If you truly want to do a thorough entry on her, I suggest you girls talk to firsthand sources.”  
“People who knew Lily Potter?” Ginny said.  
“Why, yes! As a matter of fact, one of them is right under your nose!” Madam Pince said. “Professor Fortune was a friend of hers’, in their youth, he could certainly illuminate her early years for you. Godspeed!”  
“Thank you, Ma’am,” both girls said.  
“Well, I suppose I should have thought of that. He is the one who took the pictures of her, Ron said. But what am I supposed to say? ‘Erm, I noticed I look an awful lot like a dead woman, Professor, could you tell me why?’” Ginny said, as they walked out into the corridor.   
Roger and Davy approached, looking deep in conversation, until Roger noticed Ginny.  
“Gin! Where have you been hiding?” Roger asked.  
“I haven’t been,” Ginny mumbled.   
She was mortified that she had gone with Roger to the Hog’s Head, let alone by the pipe explosion in Gordie’s room. She had been ducking Roger, and walking around with a big question mark inside, trying to understand why she had liked him enough at the time to sleep with him, and if she still did. It was like she had been possessed again, not by Voldemort but a shadow of her own self, a hungry entity that needed to feel pretty, chosen, and loved by a boy.   
It wasn’t going to be Harry, but she didn’t think she wanted it to be anymore. Pining and wishing he would notice her was different to wanting to break up him and another girl. When she was at home with her mother, she realized that she didn’t want to split him and Pandora up. That wasn’t where she wanted to direct her energy.  
Roger gave her that look he sometimes did, as if she was committing an adorable foible, like a puppy that had soiled something.  
“Gin, we’ve gotta talk,” Roger said, and urgingly took her arm. The pictures of Lily fell to the floor. Roger smirked. “What’s that, glamour photos?”  
“Those aren’t me,” Ginny said. “I’m doing a project, on Lily Potter. That’s her.”  
She felt embarrassed that she had borrowed Ptolemy’s lie. She was not quick, like Hermione or Dora. She was a terrible liar, and thief. Luckily, Roger didn’t seem interested at all, either way, in the project which didn’t exist, or in Lily Potter. Ptolemy scooped up the photos, and gave Ginny a look assuring her that she would keep them safe.  
This gave her permission to go off with Roger, and Ginny found there was no excuse not to. Roger fell in a little ways behind her, his arms around her as they walked. She had always wanted to be held close, to relax into the arms of a sweet, kind, gentle boy she loved…but, this felt unwieldy and too sudden, not quite natural, yet, and made her feel tense, rather than relaxed.   
“You scared of me?” he asked.  
“No,” she said. “should I be?”   
“I mean, after the Hog’s Head,” he asked.  
She said nothing.   
“You wanted to do it, didn’t you?” he asked, and she heard a strong insistent note in his voice. The answer that he wanted was yes. She felt pressured into making it so.  
“I did. The pipes…” she said.  
“Yeah, the pipes. It sort of seems like you made it happen. Dumbledore wants damages, you know,” he said.  
“Dumbledore?!” She said, breathlessly. Who had told the Headmaster she had slipped off to a pub with a boy? Would they both be expelled? Ginny’s mind was spinning like the long and elliptical orbit of an asteroid.  
“Aberforth Dumbledore, the keeper of the tavern. Gordie hasn’t got that kind of money, and what he’s got goes into the zine. Reporters have got to be paid,” Roger said. “did you do it, Ginny? Did you do it? Did you make the pipes burst to stop me? Did you?”  
He kept hammering her with questions. “No!” she burst out, anxious from his interrogation.  
He glared at her, as if she was being hysterical, even though it was he who had goaded her. She was confused and alarmed by the hatred she saw in his eyes. She flipped into a mode of decisive panic. Things were bad, but she could turn them around, change his mood, she was sure-she roused herself to be sure.  
As if he felt the shift in her, his shoulders slackened and he exhaled loudly.  
“Gin,” he said breathlessly, imploringly, “I haven’t got that kind of money. What am I going to do?”  
“You can borrow it. There are lenders, who do that kind of thing. Goblins, in Londinium,” she said.  
“Do you know what they do to get their money back?” Roger said, shocked and slightly hurt that she would suggest it.   
She didn’t want him to think that whatever it was Goblins did, she wanted it to befall him, and so she scrambled to think something up. She tasked herself to come up with something. Her father used to rely on her mother this way. He was a handy carpenter, and something of an inventor…but, when it came to getting things done that needed more than a hammer and nails to fix, it was her mother who always knew who to call, how much to ask for, and what to say. That was what Roger was asking her for. It was what she had always wanted from Harry, wasn’t it? For him to turn to her for an answer, or comfort, not Hermione, or any other girl…but, she didn’t want it to be Harry who needed her, anymore…just someone,anyone.  
“I don’t know what to do…I haven’t got any money…” Ginny said.   
Roger looked both crestfallen and angry. She was afraid of what he would do, when he looked into her eyes and came close. She moved back a pace, but he kept in step with her. He kissed her, and Ginny did not expect that.   
“I’ll figure it out,” he said.  
“I didn’t do it, Rog, I promise,” she said, wanting nothing more than for him to believe her.  
This feeling, that your whole happiness hinged on that of another, suspense and focus, the complete forsaking of her own will and needs, Ginny was sure it was love…and had no idea how mistaken she was. After all, Roger seemed to be in a better mood when they both knew her only thought was of him.

The ghosts hung around the window, watching Roger and Ginny.   
“Damn it,” Lily muttered. “she’s only in deeper with him! I bollocksed it up! How did I stop them shagging, but get her only in deeper with him?”  
“You strike hard, and fast. You move from your heart…but, Lily, darling, you have no patience,” James said.  
“Yeah, right. Patience is all I’ve got. I’ve been waiting all Harry’s and Rosie’s lives to talk to them again,” she said.   
“What will you say?” James asked.  
Lily gave him a sad, meaningful smile. They both knew: there was so much to say.   
“The pipes were my idea, you’ll recall, dear. It had the desired effect,” James said, a loving hand on her shoulder. “But, Ginny needs to be seen. Right now, he’s the only one paying her the attention she yearns for.”  
“I never cared much for romance when I was her age. I was buried in my studies, and I liked it that way,” Lily said.   
“Well, it proved quite the impediment to getting you to fall in love with me,” James said.  
“If only I’d known that’s what you were about! I just thought you were awkward,” Lily admitted.   
“I was. Woefully so! Around you,” James said sheepishly.  
She smiled adoringly at Jamie, who smiled back. Lily knew exactly what Ginny yearned for-to be cherished, to be close to someone. She was too young and vulnerable to understand how Roger was playing on this. Lily was her mother-she vowed to find a way to protect her, to make it better. She just wanted to put her arms around Ginny.


	66. Chapter 66

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is approached by Geoff Winnington again; Blaise Zabini makes a play for Pandora; Pandora and Cressida get a lead on Sarah Applethwaite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for embracing a Harry Potter AU with prominent POC characters: Hermione written as a biracial black woman, the heroine, Pandora, who is a biracial black woman, as well as her mother, Ada. As we continue to push for justice and equality, thank you for embracing representation as well.

Harry’s preference would have been to take his Firebolt into the village. Ron would not have objected to this, and they would have raced in the fragrant spring air, Zephyr vs. Firebolt. Hermione, however, was about as athletic as Gilderoy Lockhart was humble; out of deference to her lack of enthusiasm for The Beautiful Game, Quidditch, or broom flight in general, they hailed a school conveyance. As they passed another hippogriff-drawn carriage, they spied Dora and Cressida within. Dora waved affectionately. Harry stuck his head out the window like a happy dog, and waved until she was out of sight, the carriage pulling ahead of their’s. When he settled back into the carriage, Ron and Hermione were clearly sharing a restrained laugh that danced in their eyes.  
“Harry Potter and Pet Malfoy…I never would have guessed that one,” Ron said.  
“Why?” Harry asked.  
“Dora’s just always been so old before her time, responsible. You bring something out of her-that fire inside everyone could see was there the whole time. You bring it out,” Ron said.  
Once again, words failed Harry. He wished he could describe how Dora had brought new things out of him, too-a new, indescribably light and fizzy happiness that was similar to, but more concentrated than, the joys that Quidditch gave him.   
“I like Dora immensely. But, I do worry about Ginny…” Hermione said.  
“You reckon she’s taking it hard that Harry’s with another girl?” Ron asked.  
Harry was alarmed. He’d known for a long time that Ginny had a crush on him, but it had been at the least a source of awkward tension, at the worst it had endangered Ginny. Slytherin girls lured her outside the castle on the pretext that Harry wanted to talk to her, and she had been taken to a basilisk’s lair; more recently, Voldemort had played on the rejection she initially felt when he met Dora to possess her. Harry didn’t want anyone to suffer because of him.   
“To be frank? I think that’s part of what makes her easy prey for Shepherd, yes,” Hermione said.  
“Easy?!” Ron sputtered.   
“No, no, that’s not what she means,” Harry hurriedly assured Ron.  
“Of course not,” Hermione said quickly. “What I mean is…Ginny feels unloveable and undesirable. All her life, she’s lived in a world that prioritizes and rewards wealthy Pureblood girls with pampered lives like Pandora, over poor, working class wizards with family members who may be Squibs or Muggleborns, or even nonhumans. So, along comes a girl like that, a girl she was unfavorably compared to in her childhood, and snatches up the boy she fancies. Then, the possession and its aftermath. All of this, Ron, when she is still not over your father’s death. Roger looks attractive right now because he’s filling a need, a void.”  
Ron sighed, and stared hard out the window, as if he hadn’t heard.  
“What do I do?” he asked, sounding as if he was taking on yet another task, on top of doing farm work in the summer, keeping on top of his studies, playing Quidditch, and in general fielding the despair and worry that had crept into his household since his father’s death. He sounded adult, and tired.  
“Just be there. She’s a loving, kindhearted person, she’s just in pain,” Hermione said.  
They reached the village, and the conveyance disappeared into the air, to be summoned by another student in need. They walked the High Street to the bookshop, which still boasted the Gilderoy Lockhart cutout in the window. A stack of his books was also on display, about his various adventures.  
“Bit of a Victorian sensibility, isn’t it? The ever capable English gent, facing and taming the wilds of Africa and Asia, then home in time for tea…” Hermione said with distaste.  
“He tans too much. Bit orange, isn’t he?” Ron said. Hermione laughed.  
Harry said, “Don’t let that lot hear you,” and indicated a group of older hedge witches in roughly knitted sweaters, broom skirts, and scarves over their shoulders breathily recounting the latest episode of Lockhart’s WWN reality show.  
“Now that’s a man!” one of them gasped gutturally. “He should be Archmagister! Sort them werewolves, he would.” Her companion nodded darkly in agreement.   
Harry’s hackles rose-his foster father was a werewolf. Ron put a hand on his shoulder to restrain him.  
“Bloody racist,” Harry muttered.  
“Calm down, Harry. You can’t tell off or duel everyone who says something you don’t like. We’re getting too old for that. It just creates ugly scenes that spoil your chances in life,” Hermione said.   
“Our chances at Percival, you mean?” Ron said.  
“Ugh…do I sound like my mother?” she said.   
“Its all right. If you’re going to Percival, I’ll try to get in, too,” Harry said.  
Hermione smiled. “Really? Well, I guess Mum was right about one thing-you’ll need me to tutor you! I can’t wait!”  
Ron smirked. “Yeah, why not? They’ve got a first rate Healing program.”  
“Ah, so your mind’s made up, then, Harry? University bound it is?” Said Geoff Winnington, stepping into their view.  
“Where have you been lurking?” Harry asked.  
“Harry, Harry…I’m a busy man, I don’t follow schoolboys about. Maybe Lady Luck threw us together, to give us a chance to talk alone,” Winnington said.  
“Yeah, well he ain’t alone, is he?” Ron said, with heated loyalty.  
Winnington ignored him.  
“Look, Mr. Winnington, anyone would be pleased to play for Montrose-they’re the most storied team in England,” Harry said. “But, I’m just a kid on a school team.”  
“Everyone starts out just a kid on a school team, Harry!” Winnington said. “By God! Don’t you know your own record? No game you’ve ever played in has ever gone into a tie-breaking third half. Ever! And its never taken you over 90 minutes to find the Snitch! Set loose in the pros, you’ll be a legend.”  
“Maybe I’ve only had easy competition,” Harry said.  
“Maybe. Having competition worthy of you will sharpen your skills, and you’ve already got a Hell of an arsenal. Quick, precise, with the kind of nerve that makes a game a memorable night,” Winnington said.  
“Then, there’s the allure of Harry’s backstory?” Hermione said, with a raised eyebrow.  
Geoff Winnington looked at her with chagrinned bemusement-as if she shouldn’t have spoken, but he would try to find the time to tolerate it. That told Harry everything he needed to know-he didn’t want to sign any papers set before him by a man who didn’t want to hear from Hermione, or most likely any woman, at all.  
“Harry’s famous. He knows it. So, what? At least, this time it will be for something he likes doing, and is good at,” Winnington said. “And you can use it for good! Lots of athletes use their platforms to become humanitarians, philanthropists. Muhammad Ali? Kobe Bryant? David Beckham? All the greats give back.”  
Something about Winnington- or, rather, his offer to play for the Magpies, the man himself was unimpressive-was hard to refuse. What would it be like to play Quidditch for a living? To make his career the one thing that he always looked forward to, was good at, and enjoyed? He knew how happy it would make him…and wouldn’t all his friends and family be better off if he was happy, never frightened, haunted, sullen, or secretive?   
But…he couldn’t just leave anyone else to sort out Voldemort, and get killed trying to protect him…  
“How about a bite, at the Three Broomsticks?” Winnington said.  
That was impossible. He had to be at the bookstore for its proximity to Madam Arklow’s, to quickly respond if Dora reached out to through the red chord for help.  
“Can’t. Meeting my godsister for lunch,” he said.  
“Ah. Well. Family first,” Winnington said approvingly. “Another time. Just say when. I can tell your mind’s not made up.”  
Winnington headed for the door. A slender woman in Muggle dress with long, chestnut brown hair stalked after him, with the attitude of someone about to either tap their target on the shoulder and say,   
“Can I have a word?”  
Or produce a drink to throw on the other person. She had a furious walk. Harry idly wondered what that was about, but turned back to his friends, who were looking at him with mild disbelief.  
“What?” he asked.  
“Harry, why can’t you just say no to him?” Hermione said.  
“Yeah, shouldn’t be hard. He’s a phony,” Ron said.  
“Yeah, but he’s one scout. What if the team is different?” Harry said.  
“When someone shows you who they are, you should believe them. And, I would be heartily surprised if Winnington wasn’t an example of a broader corporate culture,” Hermione said.   
“What if I slam this door behind me, and it’s the only one that ever opens for me in Pro Quidditch?” Harry said.  
“Look, man, you’re loaded. Start your own Quidditch team. Start your own league-you’ve got all that gold, just going spare,” Ron joked. “and, question: why do you introduce Dora as your godsister? At this point, it’s kind of creepy.”  
Hermione laughed at both retorts, and Harry felt the tension diffuse, too.   
“I dunno…” he said, and then admitted, “I’ve never said ‘girlfriend’ before. As in ‘my girlfriend’. It doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel like…enough.”  
Hermione’s attention was drawn to the window. Harry heard the sound of carriage wheels and the hooves of animals on the cobblestones.  
Blaise Zabinin was wearing a Victorian suit, in the style of Wizards of Londinium, and a tophat, driving an open carriage pulled by two slender dragons the size of horses, with whipping tails.  
“Dragonettes? Wow, I’ve never seen them in person,” Ron said.  
“Don’t ogle-that’s what he intends for you to do,” Hermione said. “He’s so full of himself!”  
“Fancy him, do you?” Ron teased, earning himself a scowl.   
Hermione folded her arms, and said, “He’s as shallow as an evaporating puddle…but, he’s the veritable Dauphin of Londinium’s Black wizard community. The trouble is, he knows it!”  
“He’s got swag for a Slytherin. Always fun to duel, Blaise,” Ron said, with no malice.   
Harry had no opinion deep enough to espouse. He was a Slytherin, a friend of Eastling’s , Thrale’s, and Draco’s, and therefore they had all been dueling and trading insults for years. Harry was used to it.

“Dora!” Cressida said, pulling on Dora’s arm imploringly, and pointing most indelicately.   
The sound of carriage wheels was just background noise to Dora, she hadn’t been paying it much attention as she and Cressida walked to Madam Arklow’s. She looked now, and saw Blaise Zabini, well dressed and sitting proudly in the driver’s seat of a carriage pulled by slender silver dragonettes, horse sized dragons who would grow no larger. They were rare and expensive. Their wings were as translucent as a dragonflies, like panes of glass off which the sun glinted. Blaise’s expression clearly said,   
“Feast your eyes,” and he noticed Dora doing just that with a look of satisfaction he drew out suggestively.  
“Fancy a ride, fair Coz?” he called.  
“We’ve just gotten out of a carriage, Blaise,” she pointed out.  
“Its not a long walk,” Cressida said.  
“Why walk at all, when you can fly?” he pointed out.  
“Well, then you’ll have to wait as we have dresses made up. Tell me that wouldn’t spoil your Sunday!” Pandora teased.  
“Oh, yes, it’s bound to take ages, you wouldn’t like that, Blaise!” Cressida said.  
“Waiting for Pandora usually ends in disappointment. I thought perhaps you’d fallen into a barrel at your uncle’s tavern, or were being held for a king’s ransom,” Blaise said.  
“If that was the only trouble, she could pay it!” Cressida said.  
Blaise graced them with a small laugh. “Ah, yes-your birthday was just yesterday, wasn’t it?”  
“And I was whisked away at once to the City of Temples to review the family horde,” Dora said.  
“Creepy place, isn’t it Did you see any ancestral ghosts?” he asked.  
“Just one tragic maiden aunt, you know,” She said.  
“Oh, just? Pandora, your idea of excitement suffers from you own lofty expectations,” Blaise said.   
She couldn’t help it, she was amused by Blaise’s wit. She didn’t know him quite as well as the Vale boys, because he lived in Londinium, in the city’s wealthy enclave of Black wizards, some whose families could be dated to the reign of Henry VII, the descendants of Moorish astrologers. Pandora’s family also claimed descent from these lines, but she had always wondered if their claims were truthful. Still, they had sometimes been thrown together at Festivals, for his mother was a friend of her aunt’s.  
“Get in-wherever you are going, I shall drive you,” he said gallantly.  
The girls got in Blaise’s carriage, Pandora sitting beside him on the driver’s bench.  
“So, what was that business about the hedge witch Eastling accosted?” he asked.  
“She was no hedge witch, but a Squib,” Pandora said.  
“Ah,” he said.  
“She had some wild claim about Deverell seducing her daughter,” Pandora said, as if she thought it was mad.  
“You call that a wild story? I call it mundane,” he said.  
“My uncle’s barman sorted her, gave her some pills,” she said.  
“So much for her and her wild story,” Blaise said.  
“I suppose so,” Pandora said.  
“Abominable, isn’t it? To use a girl like that?” Cressida urged, sensing Blaise’s lack of interest in the subject.  
“If the girl was willing, then she was willing. A thing can begin beautifully, end like Greek tragedy,” he said, with a graceful shrug. “speaking of tragedy, I would consider it one worthy of Euripedes if you went to Tarleton with Neville Longbottom, Coz.”  
“Well, as I’ve said yes to him, already, what do you suggest I do about it?” Pandora said.  
“Said the girl who ran away from home in the dead of night with her tutor and enrolled herself in Hogwarts after getting the poor man sacked from the self-same institution. I rather thought you were the kind of girl who took action when she changed her mind,” Blaise said.  
“So, change my mind,” Pandora said.   
The carriage stopped. Cressida and Dora got out at Madam Arklow’s. Blaise laughed, and, with bright eyes, said to Dora, “Is the gauntlet thrown, then, Miss Black?”  
“I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Zabini. Thank you for the drive,” Pandora said.   
Pandora and Cressida entered Madam Arklow’s. It was just as Pandora remembered it, wooden milliner’s dolls and framed fashion plate sketches modeling designs on display, and the light of the red satin curtains drawn for privacy over the storefront windows casting a ruby glow on the space. Returning brought home how much time had passed since the day she met Harry.  
“Miss Beverley! Miss Black! Welcome, welcome!” said Madam Arklow, even clapping her hands together. She was a handsome woman in a simple but tasteful mutton sleeved blouse and full skirt, and a large cameo broach at her throat.   
“Thank you, Madam,” Pandora said.  
“Miss Black, I haven’t had the pleasure of your Aunt’s patronage since she took up residence at Buttershaw Hall! Surely she means to call-the season begins with the Tarletons’ Liberalia fete,” Madam Arklow said.  
Pandora hadn’t heard from Cissy since beginning school. She had not written, visited, or invited Pandora to call on her. She worried for her, especially since without Severus attending her she didn’t have access to her Faerie opium. Of course it was a good thing for her to go without it, in the long run, but the withdrawal was rough. Pandora had read newspaper articles about opium dens in Londinium and the Cities Above the Clouds.  
She covered up the dark matter with a cool smile-the Malfoy way.  
“I can’t imagine her paying anyone else a call, if she intended to be seen this season,” Pandora said. Anthea always called this tendency of hers’ ‘throwing her words’: saying something that could mean many things, and invariably concealed something.  
It satisfied Madam Arklow, who continued, “Well, you girls will be wanting something done for Liberalia, I’m sure. I have a Siren’s Hair silk, dyed in powdered diamond-oh, the most lustrous, opalescent white, you must see samples. Sarah!!” she called for an assistant.   
Dora’s belly wiggled with excitement. Sarah Applethwaite?  
A round-faced, brown-haired girl came in from an anteroom, and said, “It’s Celia, ma’am. Sarah’s gone.”  
“Oh, yes,” said Madam Arklow, and frowned, then shook it off, and said, “show Miss Beverley and Miss Black the Siren’s Hair silk.”  
“Oh, but Ma’am, I never handled it before,” Celia said, sounding squirrely with fright.  
Madam Arklow tutted, and rolled her eyes, glancing at Cressida and Pandora as if they must share her general frustration with the lower, nonmagical classes.  
“Don’t be a Muggle, girl-think!” Madam Arklow chided. “Just ask Vesta to help you with it.”  
“She’s out sick, Ma’am. Dr. Lupin wrote her that note?” Celia said.  
Madam Arklow looked even more enraged at Celia. “That man is no doctor! Well, who is here, then, Celia?”   
“Me, and Bliss, and she’s never handled the Siren’s Hair, either,” Celia said, sounding frightened.   
“You hardly need a degree from Percival to touch it, just be very careful, Celia,” Madam Arklow said wearily. “girls, follow Celia to the parlor.”  
Dora and Cressida exchanged a commiserating look, unsettled by Madam Arklow’s contempt for Celia. They followed her to a room that was half store room, half parlor. There was elegant Queen Anne furniture for ladies to recline upon while choosing fabric, but also cabinets of fine, folded fabric. Behind that was the work table, where one girl, a whispy girl who looked as fragile and fine as a dandelion, who must be Bliss, had a mouth full of pins and was sewing a black lace gown on a dress form.  
“I say, why’s that old bag so set against you?” Cressida remarked.   
Celia looked shocked, Bliss laughed and spit her pins.   
“Oh, I’m sorry, Miss, it’s just…you called it, you did! ‘Old bag’-ha! You’ve no idea!” Bliss roared.  
“Shh!” Celia squeaked.   
Nice gambit, Pandora thought, on Cressida’s part: betting that one of the two girls would be fed up with Madam Arklow, fed up enough to talk.  
“She reminds me of a governess I had, once. A Ms. Tuttle. She was like an ague and a pox sewn together,” Pandora added.  
“Well, add to that a broken leg and you’ve got Old Arkie. She’s in a right state, us so shorthanded at the beginning of the Season. You two better go to Madam Rosewater, you’ll have your gowns done on time, at least!” Bliss said, so disgruntled she was nearly hysterical.  
“Bliss, no!” Celia said.  
“I appreciate the recommendation, but you see she does my aunt’s friend, Venetia Candlesnow’s, wardrobe, and I simply can’t forgive that horrible shade of orange she has introduced into the vernacular,” Pandora said.  
Bliss, her hands on her hips, laughed. “Well, you see how it is-just me and Cee,” she said. “and old Arkie herself, who could whip it all up with magic if she chose, but no, she likes playing the grand lady over us who can’t do no magic at all.”  
“When I had my Founding Day gown done here, a month and a half ago, there was a girl called Sarah, here. Where has she gone?” Pandora asked.   
“The theater, would you believe? Ran away, to be an understudy to Eglantine Stanley! I don’t think she knew that no one ever sees an understudy. Well, there went everyone, with her,” Bliss said. “She wants her own revue, Miss Stanley, and the train the girls up at a theater called the Dionysium, in Londinium.”  
“And, many of the girls here joined the theatre?” Cressida asked.   
“No, no. I mean, her mother, Vesta, and the Old Buzzard, Vesta’s mother Juno, they went after she did. Vesta’s been no good for work, and Juno looks after her,” Bliss said. “That’s why we’re down six hands. And if the Old Bag knew I’d told you all this, she’d sack me for sure.”   
“But, something tells me that doesn’t bother you. Why?” Dora asked.  
“Getting married, aren’t I? And moving to the Vale,” Bliss said. “To the Devil with this job!”  
“Well, I still want to work,” Celia muttered. “Here’s that Siren Hair silk. Its not really Siren’s Hair, just called that. Wouldn’t want you to think we’re unethical.”  
She pulled down the sample, unspooling silk like the shine of opals and the luster of moonstone woven into panes of fabric. Dora picked a design from the fashion plates, because she had to, but, she was distracted. Her whole mind was on the fact that she now had a lead on Sarah Applethwaite. They may yet be able to give her mother peace of mind…but, there was still the task of proving that the Manticore existed, and was behind the vandalism and harassment at school, as well as the ransacking of the Goblin Market.


	67. Chapter 67

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Dora disagree about the Manticore investigation; Ginny lies to Harry to help Roger; Robbie teaches the kids about the modus operandi of Dark Wizards

“The Dionysium?” Cressida Beverley. “I have a bunch of old issues of ‘Seen in Town’ up in the room, under my bed-it its anywhere important, it should be mentioned.”  
Dora nodded. ‘Seen in Town’ was a magazine, practically required reading for a young, gently born witch. Dora’s classmates in the Vale were often reading it rather than ‘Standard Potions’ while Severus lectured, and mistook her attention to their lessons as infatuation with their professor. In any case, the magazine chronicled fashions and the doings of the fashionable in Londinium.   
“All right, we’ll check, before we tell Vesta, Sarah’s mother,” Pandora said.  
“Yes, we wouldn’t want her to take off after Sarah, and run into a fine mess,” Cressida said.  
Like her uncle and Dr. Lupin had come to the City of Temples to rescue her….from her own father. Not only was her father alive, but he had kidnapped her! Thinking of it made Dora feel angry and confused. She was distracted from her stormy feelings only by the sight of a dragonette’s lashing silver tail from the corner of her eye. When she looked up, she was snowblinded by the bright glare of sunlight on the dragonette’s glasslike wing.  
“How’d that fitting go?” Blaise asked.  
“Were you circling the perimeter?” Dora said, in disbelief.  
Blaise shrugged languidly. “This village has a circular plan. Fancy a ride back up to school?”  
“We were actually going to the bookshop,” Cressida said.   
“And we’d like to walk there,” Pandora said.   
“So, I take it you’ll be wearing white, to Tarleton,” Blaise said. “Let me guess, a gown made of crushed pearls? White rose petals?”  
“Siren’s Hair silk,” Dora said, “Dyed in crushed diamonds.”  
Blaise raised an eyebrow of appreciation at such an expensive choice. No doubt his mother, an opulent widow, would approve.   
“Trying to outshine the starry crown of the goddess Ariadne?” Blaise asked. Ariadne and Dionysus were the patron gods of the occasion for the Tarleton Hall and other festivities on the day of Liberalia. “No wonder Potter let you go without a fight. He may have more money than Pluto, but he hasn’t the style you require.”  
“Speaking of style, I think I’d like some amusement, after Tarleton. Would you call the Dionysium a top rate theater?” Cressida said.   
Blaise looked at the girls, as if trying to detect a hidden motive. Pandora admired Cressida’s gusto, but she hoped her friend hadn’t given them away.  
“If you like the avant garde, I suppose. The poet, Gordon Manfred, directs a show there,” he said, sounding unimpressed.   
Gordon Manfred was a writer, who also dabbled in obscure dark magic, and was known for frequenting fashionable Londinium salons. He advocated for teaching Muggles magic, however, which saved him from being embraced or promoted by the Slytherin elite of which he was a, decidedly prodigal, son. Pandora was not a fan of his long poems, the heroes of which were melancholic vampires, warlocks, and lost knights of Arcturus Aurelianus, who had invariably been cursed and betrayed or been betrayed by a lover with a frilly name like Iolanthe or Gwendolen. Boys seemed to like reading them out loud while drunk.  
“Its not the sort of place ladies go to unaccompanied,” Blaise added. “And, also not the place Neville Longbottom is likely to enjoy-he’s more the botanical garden sort, isn’t he?”  
“Never you mind what Neville likes. Good day, Blaise!” Pandora said, linked arms with Cressida, and together they continued along to the bookstore where Harry waited. 

While waiting for Dora and Cressida, Ron, Hermione, and Harry settled into cushy armchairs arranged around a coffee table and read books and magazines. When the bell at the door rang, Harry and Ron were looking along together at a coffee table picture book about the Falmouth Falcons, and Hermione was reading a book about the Druidic language of trees. Harry looked up, and saw Dora and Cressida enter. He rushed to the door, and embraced Dora and kissed her cheek.  
“Thanks for doing this, Dora,” Harry said.  
“I want to,” she assured him. She was so brave, Harry thought. He and his friends, put their books away, hailed a school carriage, and in private discussed their findings.  
“At least we got the Sarah matter wrapped up. But, still nothing definitive proving that the Manticore exists and has been behind the dark pranks and vandalism in the village and at school,” Harry said.   
“ ‘Wrapped up’? How do you figure that? She’s still missing,” Dora said.  
“Yeah, but, she ran away, and we know where she is, more or less. The rest is for her mum to sort out, isn’t it?” Harry said.  
“What if Bliss is lying, or mistaken, or Sarah fed her a false story? Mrs. Applethwaite was certain that Deverell harmed her daughter. I should think this Dionysium tip is a lead, not a case closed stamp,” Dora said.  
Harry sighed. “What do you want to do? Go to the Dionysium? Zabini seemed to think it was dangerous,” he said.  
“I’ve heard of that Manfred chap, and the blokes who imitate him. They’re the absinthe and seances type-actresses and bored wives practically genuflect at their feet,” Cressida said.  
“Mad, bad, and dangerous to know, sounds like,” Hermione said. “Is his poetry any good?”  
“For the art of seduction,” Cressida said.   
“We’re not done with Sarah,” Pandora said. “We haven’t found her!”  
“This was about the Manticore, not the girl,” Harry said.  
“‘The girl’? She’s just some girl, is that it? Who shouldn’t have been talking to the wrong sort of boy, walking alone, out late, shouldn’t have laughed at a joke or made eye contact? And now that she’s gone, she’s just some girl, and you have more important matters to attend to?” Dora accused with a tone of arch sarcasm becoming increasingly thicker with fury.  
“No!” Harry said heatedly. “I just want to focus on things that happened at school and the vandalism at the Goblin Market! That’s our investigation!”  
“Sarah is a person, a human being! She matters, and she matters a Hell of a lot more than a vandalized wall in a corridor at the castle! It shouldn’t make a difference that she’s a girl!” Dora said, her voice raised.  
“That’s not what I’m saying, and you bloody well know it! Pull out of this, Dora!” Harry said.  
“Who are you to tell me what to do?!” Dora said.  
“I’m your godbrother, aren’t I? I’m not going to let anything happen to you!” Harry said heatedly.  
Dora said nothing, but her gray eyes had narrowed to icy slivers, and she gave him the smoldering, seething look of a stalking big cat eyeing its prey.  
When the carriage touched down at Hogwarts, Dora and Cressida went one way, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione another.

Back in Gryffindor common room, as Ron and Hermione did their weekend homework by the fire, Harry stood in front of the fireplace, the warm of the lashing flames heating the backs of his legs as he said,  
“What the Hell was that, back there? How am I wrong for wanting to keep her safe? She was kidnapped this weekend, after all!” Harry said.  
“Well….” Hermione began sheepishly.  
“What?!” Harry snapped, assuming she was going to take Dora’s part and suggest he had been in the wrong.   
Hermione held up a hand for mercy, and continued, “It’s not your intentions, its what you said and how she took it. She feels like Sarah isn’t important to you, and….it seems she’s transferred a lot of her own feelings and experiences onto the idea of Sarah: her experiences being manipulated by men, and not having a voice or agency, being kept in seclusion. Its as if you said that her own experiences don’t matter…and I think Dora has been desperate to matter for a long time. She risked scandal and was even willing to marry Professor Snape to get an education, and she took a chance on trusting Sirius, an uncle she had always heard was a faithless rake, for a shot at a better life. I think that she is very angry about her past in the Vale, and what happened this weekend.”  
“So, I touched a nerve, basically?” Harry said glumly.  
“Yes,” Hermione confirmed.  
“Dear God,” Ron said incredulously, looking at the papers. “This happened while we were in London!”  
Harry and Hermione looked at the newspaper on the table, which told of another mass shooting at a Muggle venue, this time at a pop music concert. More chaos to feed Voldemort’s Dark Magic, and another victory for him. Harry felt like death was both wheeling over him like a hungry black bird, and grasping at him with long arms.  
“This will make him stronger, won’t it?” Ron said gravely.  
“Can I see that?” Ginny said, and snatched the paper.  
“Oy! Get a subscription!” Ron said.  
“I can’t, because I haven’t any money. Looking for a job,” Ginny said distractedly, and began flipping through the paper to the classifieds.  
Ron laughed, at first, then realized his sister was serious.   
“Gin, what do you need money for? I’ve still got some from this summer,” Ron said.  
She looked up, and her auburn eyebrows came together in a thoughtful frown. Ginny named a sum, and Ron’s eyes widened.  
“What’re you trying to buy, a bloody unicorn?” Ron spluttered.  
“No, its for repairs,” Ginny said, sighed, and confessed. “I was at Madam Puddifoot’s with Henrietta Grimshaw, and the chair I was sitting in broke, but that old cow says it was my fault and it was antique and all, and I owe her.”  
“Well, just don’t go back round there, and ignore her,” Ron advised.  
“I can’t! What if she sues with the town court?” Ginny said.  
Ron, Hermione, and Harry exchanged a look. Harry knew that the money Ron earned, working at the Malfoy home farm, going on healing calls when his mother was busy, and helping on his cousin’s farm in the Muggle world was both vitally important to his family now that his father was gone, and his savings for a 2nd degree healing education after Hogwarts.   
“I’ve got it,” Harry said. “Don’t worry, I’ll pay Madam Puddifoot for her chair. Who knows, maybe Queen Alexandra sat on it once, now her establishment can’t boast a preserved royal bum groove on display.”  
Hermione and Ron laughed, but Ginny protested, “No! Not you!”  
Harry flinched. “Why?” he asked.  
“No, Harry, I just mean that I don’t want any handouts,” Ginny said.  
“There’s no shame in accepting help when you need it. We all play a part in helping each other’s lives go smoothly, don’t we? I mean, did you harvest the wheat and grind the flour, and bake the bread of your breakfast toast, this morning? Is it taking a handout to accept the labor of the farmer, miller, and baker who did?” Hermione said.  
“And that is why you are on the debate team,” Ron said.  
Ginny, mollified, said, “I’ll pay you back, Harry.”  
“Don’t worry about it. Just remind me to write out the check, all right?” Harry said.  
“Oh, and could you leave it blank? I don’t know Madam Puddifoot’s Christian name,” Ginny said.  
Harry went up to bed feeling heavy and gloomy. He woke up, showered, and dressed, and when he was walking to his first class it became clear that his breakup with Pandora was no longer a game, ploy, or act between the two of them, it was a fact. He didn’t feel any stirrings from the red chord, any whispers and mental caresses from Dora’s thoughts, and he had no expectations of running into her at a stair landing or a private nook of a corridor. He felt alone, and half of his brain was scheming to make right whatever was wrong, the other just felt desolate and done, like a land salted by the Roman army millenia ago.   
“What a slag. You’re well shot of her,” said a Gryffindor girl Harry couldn’t ever recall talking to before, who lay a tabloid article on his desk in Defense Against the Dark Arts.  
The article read, ‘Rebel Heiress Courts Londinium Dandy’, in bold black letters above a picture of Pandora in Blaise Zabini’s carriage, just the day before. The author, Sadie Tuppence, set the stage for her lead by enumerating on Dora’s background, as a ‘neglected orphan’ with a ‘whirlwind romance’ with a tutor (Snape), and ‘failed gambit for love with a fellow lost soul’ (Harry) behind her, and was now ‘courting society’s admiration and scrutiny with a high profile flirtation’ with Blaise Zabini, the son of a renowned society beauty and a husband who had died under mysterious circumstances. The salacious, galling nosiness and flippant contempt of all parties mentioned shown through distastefully, and made Harry feel sleazy for having read it.   
‘The beleaguered orphan Potter is so dejected by Miss Black’s swift end to their youthful amour that he turned down the chance of a lifetime, an offer to train for the summer with the Montrose Magpies, according to team scout Geoffrey Winnington,’ Tuppence wrote.   
Harry was shocked, but his mind made quick work of retrieving the memory of the thin woman tearing off after Winnington as he left the bookshop. She was a gossip reporter, who had used all she observed the day before to make Pandora out to be a heartbreaking wild child, an enfant terrible of Pureblood wizard society who ran through men like mints and had never had any parents to teach her right from wrong. For his part, Harry didn’t like coming off as a lovelorn dope, but there was a difference between the sympathetic way Tuppence wrote about him, and the way she mocked, vilified, and blatantly lied about Pandora.   
“Hermione-look at this rot,” Harry said, and passed the tabloid to Hermione as Professor Fortune strode into class. The class’s attention shifted to him.   
Fortune had quickly become one of their more popular professors, for his relative youth and gory, frank lessons about demons and monsters, and thrilling real life tales of facing off against them in exotic locales. He was so matter of fact, he never came off as boastful. Not a few students had taken to mimicking him: speaking in a laconic drawl with a hint of a Northern accent like his, knotting their tie low and hastily, and rolling up their shirt sleeves like him, and, to the bane of the Prefects like Ron and Hermione that had to confiscate contraband, smoking. Harry had energy shielding lessons with Fortune every day of the week.   
Harry readied his mind to learn more about his favorite subject, fighting dark magic. For a minute, he could set aside and postpone the blow of Pandora not speaking to him. Natalie, Fortune’s apprentice, lit skull shaped candles set about the room, and Fortune hit the lights as, on his projector, a countdown like from an old newsreel counted down to ten.  
“Bit of a history lesson,” Fortune said, striding sinuously down the spiraling staircase that led from his office.   
Harry was just a cut above imitating Fortune’s accent and picking up a smoking habit, but he felt a bit in awe of him…Fortune had travelled the world, knew rare magic, and dressed sharp. Aside from his interests in being an Auror, Harry hadn’t given much thought to the Wizarding profession he wanted to enter, or what kind of wizard he wanted to grow up to be…but he certainly felt he could do worse than ending up worldly, mysterious, and elegant, like Fortune, if that was possible.   
When the countdown ended, the “Yin and Yang” symbol, or Tai Chi was on the projector.  
“In ancient times, people were more connected to both the earth, and the invisible world,” Fortune said. Natalie took a seat on his desk. He continued, “Different cultures had different beliefs about how the physical world was created, and what was the source of the great energetic power they saw and sensed all around them. In their observations, they couldn’t help but notice that some events felt good, made them happy, helped their community, while others caused suffering, even violence and chaos. So, they began to differentiate what they saw and felt into opposites.”  
“Light and dark, good and evil,” Natalie said. “But, in every culture, you’ll see the barest nod to the fact that both light and dark have the same source. This is eloquently expressed in the symbol you see here. In the darkness, there is a spot of light, and in the light, there is a spot of darkness, and rather than parallel to each other they curve out of or into each other. They aren’t strangers to each other, they come from the same source, and diverge.”  
“Magic, in itself, is just there. That’s energy. Its there, and we shape it when we use it. Every spell we cast, every potion we brew, or magical object we create, has a purpose that we have decided to bring to life. Magic isn’t Light or Dark, inherently-we decide on that,” Fortune said. “ It is our intentions that make magic malevolent or benevolent. Bearing that in mind, how shall we define a Dark Wizard?”  
Harry glanced over at the Slytherin side of the room. It was mostly male, and not a few of these young men were gritting their teeth and sitting rigidly in their desks. Some of their last names were the same as those of men mentioned in that Daily Prophet article. They had responded with mutiny in the Great Hall when Dumbledore announced Fortune’s appointment as their Coven Guardian, and seemed on edge, waiting for a chance to disrupt or interject now.  
The slide changed, and read, “A Dark Wizard is one who consistently and intentionally channels magic into acts of informed malice.”  
‘Acts of informed malice,’ Harry wrote in his notes-he found it a haunting term.  
“What do you think that means?” Fortune said.  
Hermione’s hand shot up, and Fortune called on her. “Dark Wizards knowingly cause harm,” she said.  
“Bingo,” Fortune said. “Although magic isn’t inherently light or dark, we can use it for benevolence, restoring balance, creation, or malice. A dark wizard chooses malice, and acts on it with magical means.”  
“No one can tell us what magic to practice!” Vivian Thrale interjected. He was more hotheaded than his best friend, Deverell Eastling. Eastling sat back smugly, vaguely bemused.   
“Why would you choose to hurt people?” Hermione said.  
“Quiet, Thrale-one more outburst, you’ll be in the dirt on your hands and knees, picking weeds out of the school vegetable gardens for detention,” Fortune said. With Thrale’s outsized Vale dignity, that was a suitably humiliating threat.   
The screen changed again, and both Slytherin and Gryffindor students were shown a copy of a photograph of Tom Riddle at the height of his powers. He stood in front of a building that Harry recognized as the Hall of Justice in Londinium. It was where Sirius and other Members of the Guild convened to draft and vote on Guild laws. It was also where Harry had been held for questioning for a night about the death of Cedric Diggory. The darkness and damp of the cells beneath the Hall of Justice returned to him, flooding his memory like water filling a sinking ship. Sirius and Dumbledore had lobbied for his release, and both seemed half furious, half relieved when they came to collect him-furious at their government, relieved that Harry could return to them. Sirius had wrapped Harry up in a big hug, and his woodsy shapeshifter smell had driven away the cold.  
In the photo, Voldemort looked the way he must have when he murdered Harry’s parents-a handsome man in a militaristic dark leather coat. Beyond the steps of the Hall was a sea of followers, dark clad men gathered like a large flock of ravens, and above them towered banners with esoteric symbols adopted by their movement. Harry looked around at his Gryffindor classmates-they all seemed to be chilled to the bone by the sight of Riddle, the tyrant, the mass murderer.   
“Perhaps no wizard in our history has ever acted with such malice as Tom Riddle,” Fortune said. “he’s become the textbook case of what a Dark Wizard is.”  
“So, lesson over, then? Dark Wizard equals Voldemort. Great, thanks for the tip,” Deverell Eastling drawled, and his Slytherin cronies chortled.   
The urgency and alarm with which Dora spoke about the possibility that he had hurt Sarah came back to him. Deverell was handsome, and polished…but, the power of his thoughts lurked beneath his youth and beauty, and a certain heat and magnetism was enough for the astute to discern that his thoughts were vile. Was he dangerous?   
“Silence,” Fortune said gravely, the growl of his Northern burr giving the words extra force. The Slytherins seemed surprisingly mollified.  
“The magic that Dark Wizards use is willfully malicious, drawn from dark forces and directed to kill, maim, intimidate, or control,” Fortune said, in a tone that indicated that they should take notes. “A dark wizard uses dark magic, and hurts or intimidates others, in order to pursue goals that benefit or aggrandize themselves. Perhaps they seek an object that will increase their power, to kill an enemy, or to control a territory. Like many things in the realm of Dark Magic, I can’t tell you what signs to look for, because the evil in question is constantly changing. But, to defend yourself, you need to learn to use your instincts, to talk to your magic, and go with your gut when something seems rotten in the state of Denmark.”  
“What does that mean, Professor?” Hermione asked.  
“Means that you can feel when something’s off, when someone wants to use your magic for their purpose, if you know what to look out for. A Dark wizard doesn’t usually choose to act alone. Their ego and the scope of their schemes means they utilize followers. Like Riddle, here. What were his pals called?” Fortune said.  
“Death Eaters,” the class chorused.   
“Right-o,” Fortune said. “much like a cult, they are under their leader’s thumb thanks to a combination of veneration and ritual that strip them of individual identity through repetition, which hammers home how they should behave and they should believe. But, it begins with a dark wish. That’s how they get their hooks in you.”  
The phrase ‘dark wish’ slithered up and down Harry’s body like the touch of the demons who had tried to seduce him.  
“Everybody wants something they shouldn’t. A revenge, a desire, a curious thought that keep creeping up on us. Maybe there’s some kind of monkey on our back, someone or something hurting us, and it won’t stop hurting and we can’t get rid of it on our own, or we feel as if we can’t,” Fortune said. “the dark wizard is someone who hasn’t brushed those thoughts away, whose broken the taboos, untied the Gordian knots, and has figured out how to harness their darkest urges for magical power…so, they know how to see into someone, find their dark wish, and make it come true. Its how they earn your trust and your admiration. They seem to set you free, to tell you that your basest lusts and hatreds are justified and should be acted upon. But, they hide behind the growing numbers of the people who make them seem more powerful, and bind you to them by keeping you constantly unbalanced. Angry, seeking satisfaction, vulnerable in your lust and fury, and only trusting them. They are no liberators, but slavers.”  
Harry felt the hair on his arms turn to gooseflesh. His own desire to avenge his mother and sister was just such a dark wish. The lesson was a warning to him as much as it was to the boys who aspired to be Death Eaters. He was telling them that there was neither glory nor peace in dark magic, in giving in to one’s darker impulses. The wroth and lust of such a state of mind only made one prey for another person seeking control.   
He and his classmates took notes as Fortune talked, and by the end of the lesson, they had learned that a Dark Wizard channeled the dark side of magic and committed magic that furthered their own personal schemes or legend, and enslaved others by enabling, encouraging, and coercing them to commit vile deeds, too.


	68. Chapter 68

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ada is concerned that Pandora cannot hear her; Harry and Ron unburden themselves to each other; Remus comforts Pandora

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters this weekend, so please proceed to Chapter 69 after this. Stay safe, and be well!

Pandora paused in front of her mother’s portrait in Ravenclaw Tower.  
“I never really knew you. I never will,” she said, and continued on her way. She felt miserable and attributed it to concern that she did not have a wand, essential for Charms and Transfiguration classes, and the fact that she and Harry weren’t speaking. She just barely felt a slight, wispy pressure on her shoulder, but figured it was just the bounce of her hair, and ignored it as she walked on.  
“Ravenclaws-too bloody timid,” Lily said.  
“Oh, should I tamper with the pipes?” Ada shot back acidly, looking at Lily over her shoulder.  
“Got the job done,” Lily said brusquely.  
Ada sighed. “I suppose…but, now Rose feels it’s her responsibility to pay for those damaged pipes,” she pointed out.  
“That Roger…” Lily grumbled. Then, she focused back on Ada. “Look, its only the day after Pandora’s birthday. You have plenty of time to talk to her.”  
“But, how can I do so if she can’t feel me? I don’t understand, I’m her mother! Why was Cordelia Black able to get through to her, but not me?” Ada said.  
James Potter appeared in a rush of air and light. “Resonance,” he said.  
“Resonance?” Ada and Lily repeated.  
“Yeah. Like…your wavelengths. Maybe they’re just not in harmony right now?” Jamie said. “Vibrations attract, like according to like, you know…” he faltered sheepishly, wilting under the scornful look in Ada’s obsidian eyes.  
“This sounds like a Daily Prophet horoscope,” Ada said witheringly.  
“Let him talk!” Lily snapped.  
Jamie wasn’t like her and her Cokeworth friends, who had fended for themselves for hours at a time during the summer. Sev and Rob didn’t want to be home much for good reason, Juliet Lupin treated Remus more like a roommate than a son, and Lily’s parents gave her wide latitude because they knew they would never be able to fully comprehend or guide her in the world of wizards. But, Jamie had been his parents’ sheltered and adored miracle baby, treasured but lonely in the beautiful but slightly isolated and boring environs of the Grange. His mind had run wild with make believe and questions, but communicating with others was never his strong suit, aside from those closest to him: his best friend, Sirius Black, and mentor, Dumbledore. Even Lily hadn’t understood him at first, until it was just the two of them, when she was tutoring him at Orchard Grange while he recovered from the Sectumsempra curse.  
Buoyed by Lily’s defense, James cleared his throat and began again in a steadier voice, and said,  
“Emotions and thoughts have vibration and frequency, and when we encounter others we resonate with those whose personal frequency matches our’s. We’re drawn to them. They can change, over time-maybe, right now, she’s in a place to resonate with Cordelia, but not with you,” James said.  
“Ridiculous! I’m her mother!” Ada said, outraged. Jamie looked alarmed, concerned that he had hurt Ada.  
“No, I get it, I understand what Jamie’s saying. You and Pandora…you are quite different, aren’t you? I mean, you were always so…single minded, and ambitious, and set on your course. Pandora’s a little more…sensitive?” Lily said.  
“I know that the subject of energy is your pet interest, James, but I don’t think physics has anything to do with this,” Ada said. “But, I don’t understand it! Why can’t I get through to her? She’s 17 now…”  
She looked close to ringing her hands. Lily and Ada had their differences, but she felt for her. She rested a ghostly hand on Ada’s shoulder.  
“Well, she’s not exactly letting anyone in, is she? Not Sirie, Reemie, or Harry. She’s taking a lot on her shoulders. I think she’s trying to exorcise something,” Lily said.  
“It can’t end well. We have to stop it,” Ada said.  
“We’re not here to stop the kids from making mistakes. We’re here to tell them the truth about the mistakes we made,” James said.  
“No, Jamie, don’t be so hard on yourself. Love, you’re not the one who cocked up, here. You died for me and Harry…and in a way, Rosie wouldn’t exist without you, either,” Lily said.  
“Ada…you understand me, don’t you?” James said meaningfully.  
“I do. Lily, the children, our children, are coming to a crossroads, a natural place where childhood ends and adult life begins. We came to that place and in our own way, we all ran from it. We put off ending the things that needed to be ended, and embracing the changes we needed to make. We used the war as an excuse, and when trouble came, we trusted the people we knew and felt comfortable with, instead of breaking free and starting over,” Ada said. “Or, at the opposite end of things, we relied too much on ourselves alone.”  
Lily nodded. “Its true. I thought I was being clever, and saving everyone…if I did a runner on Sev he’d be safe from Voldemort finding out his big secret, that he was protecting me, and if I took Harry to America I was sure he’d grow up safe. But, I didn’t want to leave Rosie with Sev or ask him to come with us, either, so I just kept secrets and avoided the issue, and ran away.”  
“I should have come up with a better plan for us, than holing up at Orchard Grange for as long as we could. I ran home, hoping the storm would pass, like a kid. Like a spoilt boy. We lost time. We should have gone to America, Canada, Australia, anywhere…I’m so sorry,” James said.  
Lily put her arms around James, and they both looked encouragingly at Ada, gently and sympathetically prodding her to take her turn.  
“I loved Severus. He was brilliant…smarter than the professors, and that excited me. He understood me. He respected to me. He didn’t care that I was a girl, or that I was Black. To him, I was a scientist. And….oh, I don’t know. What makes anyone love anyone? Is it resonance? Whatever love is, we both always knew it was there. And I should’ve ended things with Regulus Black. I was a coward…and it ruined all our lives. It hurt Dora. Severus looked at her, saw me, and he was so bitter by that time that all he saw when he looked at her was what was owed him for all his pain,” Ada said.  
“Don’t blame yourself for Reggie and Sev-they chose their way. They chose to be Death Eaters, and I’m sure that being Voldemort’s lackeys corrupted them a Hell of a lot more than you lot’s bizarre love triangle,” Lily said.  
“Thank you, Lily. That was almost comfort,” Ada said.  
“See? You two can get along, when you try! Remember, we’re here for the kids. Dora, Rose, Harry. Its not about us,” He said.  
The women looked meaningfully at each other, and then nodded slowly in agreement. 

“Harry, come ‘ere,” Fortune said. He had removed his jacket, and his waistcoat was unbuttoned over his white shirt, whose sleeves were rolled up. Dean Thomas looked lingeringly at Fortune, and then at Harry with a disheartened frown. It was almost as if he was dismayed to see Harry accompanying Fortune up the stairs to his office.  
Harry shrugged it off-maybe Dean wanted to discuss his grade. He followed Fortune, and gave Ron and Hermione a look over his shoulder telling them they didn’t have to wait.  
When Fortune had closed the door behind him, it was just him, Harry, and Natalie, who had her arms folded in a no-nonsense way.  
“So, we heard a bit about your weekend, Harry,” Natalie said.  
“Erm…which bit?” Harry said.  
“The bit where you drove out to Wiltshire to trip balls at the Uffington White Horse! I’m not saying I’ve not spent a weekend the same way me’self, but Christ, Harry! You’re 16 with a few textbook Latin spells under your belt-you haven’t got anything like the experience and preparation necessary for a Shamanic journey like that! Your mum will drag me to Hell if you get up to anything like that again,” Robert said.  
“Something tells me my mum isn’t the ‘drag you to Hell’ sort of ghost,” Harry said.  
“No, but she’s got a mouth on her,” Robert said darkly.  
“Look, everything went all right in Wiltshire. In fact, I found out that Voldemort and me are connected. We’re both related to Melusina, the water faerie. What do you think that means to him?” Harry asked.  
Fortune frowned.  
“If you two share blood and he’s gunnin’ for you, I can only think he wants to be the last wizard of your line, or use your shared blood for a ritual of some sort. But, don’t quote me-this is not a time to run off half cocked on conjecture, all right? No playing silly buggers on this one,” Robbie said.  
Harry barely held back a laugh at the expression, and said, “Sure-you won’t catch me playing silly buggers, I promise.”  
Natalie smirked, and he met her eye.  
“Very tough, Rob,” she said, playfully mocking.  
“Not trying to be tough-it’s just...he’s Lil’s kid. And he’s the same age as my son,” Robbie said soberly.  
“I’ll try my best to stay safe, Professor. By the way, your energy shielding lessons really came in handy at the City of Temples,” Harry said.  
“Glad to hear it, but I don’t want you in the habit of defending yourself with only two auric layers shielded, all right? We gotta work on getting your whole aura sheathed in protective energy,” Robert said. “Meet me up here round seven, all right? You and Dora, Ron and Hermione? We’ll have dinner, and work on shields. How’s Dora holding up, after the City of Temples?”  
“Er…Dora’s…fine,” Harry said. “I gotta go, Professor. Thanks!”  
Harry hurried out of Fortune’s office, at the risk of having to talk about Dora.  
“Harry!” he heard someone call when his foot has scarcely touched the flagstones of the corridor.  
It was Neville Longbottom, one of Harry’s roommates in the Gryffindor dorm.  
“Oh, hey Neville,” Harry said.  
“Mordecai told me that you needed help infiltrating the Manticore. I was hoping you, me, Dora, and Ron and Hermione could get together at some point, go over our game plan, before Tarleton Hall. Can’t go in without a plan,” Neville said.  
“Yeah, good point. For right now, I guess, you and Dora just keep spending time together, make it look convincing that you’re two Purebloods in love,” Harry said. “But, I think Blaise is interested in her, so he might give you a hard time.”  
“Zabini? He’d have to lift more than an eyebrow to give someone a hard time,” Neville said.  
“He doesn’t go out of his way, Blaise, does he?” Harry observed in agreement with Neville.  
“No, he might wrinkle his clothes if he did, you know,” Neville said. “well, Professor Sprout wanted me to help her transplant some opal roses, so I’d better head down to Greenhouse 2. Let me know when you want to meet up and hash out our plan for Tarleton.”  
Neville Longbottom, Harry decided, was annoyingly cheerful, and insultingly organized.  
Ordinarily, Harry would be glad for so many distractions as dinner and energy lessons with Fortune and planning the Tarleton Hall operation presented-but, he could hardly continue to expect Dora’s help quite so readily if they were not speaking, and how would he explain her absence to Fortune? All roads seemed to lead back to her…but, she hadn’t reached out once since the disagreement in the carriages.  
“Neville’s perfectly right, we need to go over our key objectives before the ball,” Hermione said, when Harry told her about Neville approaching him, as they walked by the lake at lunchtime. “We need to decide who’s involved, how to go in, and what questions are going to be asked, of whom, and what surveillance methods we’re going to use.”  
“Yeah, sure-why don’t you write it all down?” Ron said.  
Hermione shot him a glare, and said, “I’m going to post a letter.”  
“To France, or Ecuador?” Ron asked.  
This earned him another look over Hermione’s shoulder as she walked away.  
Harry thought about who was involved with the investigation: essentially himself, Ron, Dora, Hermione, Neville, and Cressida Beverley. They would all have to talk, and the most private place he could think of was the cellar at the Pendragon, but on Wednesday when Remus was sure to be seeing patients as a Healer in the rooms above the bar…no, then he would have to come up with an excuse, that his patient but shrewd foster father would see through; there was the Hog’s Head, where dodgy wizards customarily rented a room when they wanted a private word…Orchard Grange…but, he didn’t want to invite just anyone to his ancestral home. After exhausting these possibilities, Harry decided that he would ask his friends to meet and discuss their plan in Dungeon 2 after classes were over and even the professors had retired to sleep.  
“Oy, Harry! You look like a zombie! The real kind, not the movie kind,” Ron said.  
“I don’t think one is preferable to the other,” Harry said.  
Ron laughed agreeably and said, “Let’s sit here,” indicating a just overgrown enough and soft patch of grass.  
“You all right?” Ron said.  
“Yeah. Just a little overloaded. We’ve got Fortune’s lessons tonight after class, and we have to get word to everyone, somehow, to meet at Dungeon 2 to go over the Tarleton Hall plan-” Harry said, and Ron interrupted,  
“And Dora’s not speaking to you,” Ron said.  
Harry nodded. “I don’t know how this goes. I mean, I feel like we’re really broken up, but I don’t want to be. I don’t know how to mend it, though.”  
“I wish I knew, man. I mean, I’m in the same place with Draco, aren’t I?” Ron said.  
As they walked back towards the castle, Harry spied Dora and Neville Longbottom, on the other side of the lake. The sun graced her dark brown hair as she walked to Hagrid’s cabin. This was not the time to go after her, he decided.

Dora knocked on the door of Hagrid’s cabin. She and Neville had baskets of opal roses and frost cherries, from the greenhouses, which they thought Hagrid would enjoy.  
“I talked to Harry,” Neville said, as they waited.  
“I expect you talk to Harry every morning and night, you share a bedroom,” Dora said.  
Neville smirked. “All right, now. Don’t be that way.”  
“What way?” Dora groused.  
“Look, Pandy-this Manticore thing, its bigger than us. Its about making Hogwarts a better place, a safer place. I know you and Harry care more about that than to drop the Quaffle because you’re angry at each other….which, I take it, you both are?” Neville said.  
“Harry…doesn’t understand,” Dora began, but before she could elaborate on what he didn’t understand, Hagrid answered the door cheerfully.  
“Neville! Dora! What’cha got for me? Professor Sprout said you lot were cookin’ up some real intr’esting specimens!” Hagrid said.  
“These frost cherries are from the Winter faerie lands, Hagrid! They taste like they’ve been on ice, and you can use the seeds to plant some for the school garden,” Neville said.  
“And, these opal roses will look lovely on your table, I think,” Dora said.  
He smiled fondly at her, and said, “Well, that’s what they call the feminine touch, innit? I thank you both, come in, come in, for a cuppa before you go back up.”  
“Pandora, dear, what a pleasant surprise,” Lupin said mildly, standing up from a couch covered in old furs.  
“Doctor! How are you, after the moon?” Dora said.  
“Its been a long time, since I passed a moon without my medication. I had forgotten how weak it leaves me,” Lupin said. “But, you know, as they say in America, ‘been there, done that’. I had my first transformation in the Forbidden Forest, actually. I ran afoul of a centaur herd, after trespassing on their land, and had to study their arts to repay them-a show of respect, you see.”  
“So, that is how you became a Healer?” Dora said. “That is remarkable! The Healing arts of the centaurs come down from Chiron, the great centaur healer who trained Achilles! And his adopted son, Asclepius, the greatest healer of the classical age!”  
Remus smiled fondly at Dora. “You’re a remarkable girl, Dora. You are so wise. I’m so honored to be able to take care of you, that you trust me. Tell me, how are you, dear, after the City of Temples?”  
Neville and Hagrid looked at her, waiting for her answer, but Dora focused on Remus.  
“I met my father,” she said, although this, he already knew.  
Remus looked into her eyes, held them, and nodded. He understood.  
“He…was alive, and he never came for me. He never...but then, he took me, and I feel like it was just because he wanted the Lapis. He didn’t want me, he needed me to get it. He didn’t care about me-who I am, who I really am. He didn’t want to know me. Just like my Uncle Lucius-he never gave me a choice about marrying Draco, and he kept me ignorant in the Vale to suit his purpose. And Severus…he wanted my mother. To mold me into her, and in so doing, to possess her, through me,” Pandora said. “They didn’t care!” She sobbed, her face in her hands, and Remus gently pulled her into his arms. He held her in a patient, fatherly way. He pulled away to look once more in her eyes, and said,  
"You are a girl. I'm a werewolf. We both know what its like to be silenced, shamed, and denied our rights and our voices because we are held to be inferior to men. There are those who don't trust us, don't have empathy for us, scorn and fear us, exploit us. Dora, I'm so sorry. Just know that I see you. I care about you."

"But when will it change? When will it get better? Why do men get the benefit of the doubt and the upper hand, and the rest of us don't have a voice?" She said. 

"When we reckon with our history, we can change the world as it is now, and make a better future- where compassion informs our decisions, and equality is the result of them," Remus said.  
Pandora nodded. No matter how idealistic it sounded, she wanted that world, and appreciated Dr. Lupin’s compassion. 

As she walked back up to the castle with Neville, he said, “Dora, I’m so sorry I never knew how rough girls had it! Forced to be all sweet and meek and mild, kept out of life and married off, not allowed to go to school, and then if you do the slightest thing people pounce and call you…well, you know, all sorts of things! I mean, not too many people like me but that’s just because I haven’t got any talent. Imagine, being born with this target on you, just because of how your body’s built…well, you haven’t got to imagine it, you’re a girl. Oh, wait, I shouldn’t have said it quite like that….Am I part of the problem?”  
Neville’s earnestness was, as ever, charming. Dora couldn’t help but laugh at how flustered he was, but this only made him look even more uncomfortable.  
“Oh, no, Neville, I’m sorry to have laughed! I only did because you are so kind, it made me feel better. You are most certainly not part of the problem,” she said.  
He smiled, reassured, and for the first time she noticed that one of his eyes was brown, the other was blue-just like Professor Fortune’s.


	69. Chapter 69

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Manticore strike again; Sirius receives disturbing intelligence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters this weekend, so go back and read Chapter 68 if your missed it:) Stay safe, be well, be happy

“Done! And, you’re welcome,” Hermione said, as she, Ron, and Hermione walked across an expanse of green, neatly trimmed grass on a courtyard between two wings of the castle, and open on the fourth end to a grove of chestnut trees. On the other side was the stone facaded 18th century building that housed their Incantations class, along with other classes, archives, and offices.   
Harry loathed Incantations, which were long litanies in difficult ancient languages. A lot of Purebloods came to Hogwarts after being tutored in Latin, Ancient Greek, or another ancient language throughout their childhood, but the only language Harry had learned at the orphanage was swear words. Incantations were usually used for Summoning and Banishment of Entities: ghosts and demons. There was once a steady and organized trade in that sort of work among witches and wizards for Muggle customers, who needed a ghost out of their home or a simple curse removed from them, combined with healing and fortunetelling-they were called Cunningfolk, and had a separate guild, the Horsemen.   
“What am I thanking you for, exactly?” Harry asked, bemusedly.   
Modesty was not something Hermione was overburdened with-she was clever, and she knew it, and he cheered her on, all the way: they had both come from the Muggle world, and were learning a whole new world as they went along. But, she was much more naturally clever than him.  
“I sent letters to everyone involved in the Manticore plot, to meet us in Dungeon 2 tomorrow at 9. Speaking of the Manticore, they’ve been rather silent since their opening salvos. Why do you think that is?” Hermione said.  
“Planning their next trick, I expect. I just hope its not worse than what they did to the Aesthetic Dance Team’s shoes,” Harry said, shuddering at the idea of all those girls with their bloody dance shoes, forced to dance even though they were in pain.   
They heard a loud ‘boom’ like a bomb going off, and saw, to their amazement, fireworks in the daylight sky. Ron, Hermione, and Harry frowned in the patch of sky where the flares stretched and wilted.   
“That’s right above the menagerie, isn’t it?” Hermione said.   
“Let’s go see,” Ron said. He and Harry started to jog that way.  
“Wait! You know Professor Hartnell hates tardiness!” she said.   
Professor Methodius Hartnell reminded Harry of a writer from the 1930s-detached, well bred manner, tweed suits, the ‘Scotch and poetry sort’, although of course they had never seen him imbibe Scotch or any other libation firsthand.  
“I’m sure he can make an exception for an explosion, Hermione. What if Hagrid’s out there with the animals?” Harry said.  
This made up her mind, and the three of them raced off towards the menagerie. 

“What the…?” Hagrid muttered, as he and Remus watched the sparks shoot into the air. Remus, with the instincts of a Creature, knew what was coming next A symphony of chaos began: the distressed song of Alkonosts, the sound of tree branches cracking beneath stampedes of griffins, hippogriffs, and pegasi, and dust rose with the discordant music of flight.  
The animals fled, trampling the school gardens as they did.   
“Hagrid, look,” Remus said, as he spied two dark robed figures with the hoods of their cloaks up. The wizards fired incantations at the menagerie, and flames blossomed in the trees, like nests of fire. The centaurs, too dignified and intelligent to flee mere lights and noise, ran now, sheltering the young and the old in the middle, flanked by warriors firing arrows.  
“Petrificus totalus!” Remus cried, aiming at the robed wizards, and they hit the ground. He then turned his attention to the fire, casting, ‘Aguamenti!’ frantically.  
He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, and turned to see Albus Dumbledore, silver bearded, silver robed, the wise and benevolent man Remus had fought for and had been willing to die for since h was a boy. Dumbledore’s eyes gently said, ‘That’s enough-but well done.’ With a few wandless hand movements, Dumbledore’s magic troubled the surface of the nearby lake, and the water rose in a great, misty cloud, that rained on the burning trees.   
“Professor, that was marvelous,” Remus said.   
“I’m glad you think so, Doctor,” Dumbledore said graciously. “If you’ll excuse me, I must get ahead of a stampede before any students are caught in the crossfire. I’d ask you to join me, but for all your many and admirable talents, Dragon Sense is sadly not one of them. No fault of yours’ Remus.”  
As if on cue, a silver-blue dragonette slivered to Dumbledore’s side. He climbed astride it dignifiedly, his spine straight and his gaze straight ahead as the dragonette took off. Like a plane herding sheep below them on a vast plain, Dumbledore was clearly guiding the stampeding magical creatures, herding them with invisible magic back towards the forest.  
“Well, Dumbledore’s got that sorted, let’s us see about them troublemakers. Laid ‘em out good, you did, Remus!” Hagrid said.   
“Thanks, Hagrid,” Remus said. He had rather hoped to study Defensive Magic at Percival College, but his first lycanthropic transformation had put an end to those dreams. They admitted wizards, not Creatures.   
Hagrid accompanied Remus to the edge of the forest, and he knelt beside the incapacitated wizards. He removed their masks, revealing the faces of Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe. Pureblood, Slytherin, sons of former, but rather garden variety and undistinguished Death Eaters, they certainly fit the profile of the Manticore, if Harry and his friends were right about its resurgence. In the old days, its ringleaders had been Mulciber and Avery, and a host of names now lost to the war and the wind.   
They were, Remus knew, the boys who had vandalized and driven away the Goblin Market. Was it just youthful aggression and the internalized hate of young men indoctrinated to Voldemort’s cause if not his army, behind these attacks, or was there some other purpose, Remus wondered?  
“Let’s take ‘em up to the castle, let the Professors sort it,” Hagrid said. Remus nodded in agreement, and waved his wand, levitating the frozen young men in front of him. 

The house was too quiet. Sirius missed the sound of Remus cooking, or the sight of him watercolor painting or reading, or sneaking in a clandestine smoke of his American Marlboro cigarettes, a vice inherited from his mother, Juliet. He only smoked when Harry wasn’t home, usually barefoot in the bamboo and hibiscus noise breaks he had planted off the back patio. With Remus recovering at Hagrid’s, tended by Hagrid and Robbie, Sirius was home alone with paperwork. His role in this war-if war it was to be-was different than the last. He had been a spy of sorts, pretending to be a feckless, rich young man who would sell his own mother for the right price, on either side of the fray, living the high life in Londinium. He subtly feigned fondness for opium and absinthe, and love affairs with alluded to individuals that didn’t exist, all for his cover, while in fact he forged documents that people needed to escape Britain on ships bound for the Ocean Between Worlds.   
This time, his role was to collect intelligence. Spies like Draco Malfoy reported to him, and he passed their findings along to Dumbledore.   
‘Does this mean I’m old? Is this a ‘desk job’?’ Sirius wondered to amuse himself, and wished he had Remus by to say it out loud to.   
He couldn’t wait till Remus and the kids-Harry, Dora, and Ptolemy, were home. Maybe, Sirius thought, they would visit a beach in Cornwall-they could use a trip out of town to clear their head. Or, maybe a quiet weekend at Orchard Grange was in order, but it was eerie to be there again, so much older after so much time, and without the sound of James jogging on the stairs, and appearing in the doorway of a room in a rugby shirt and chinos. His sentences invariably began, ‘I just read…’ and then he would tell Sirius about some intriguing tidbit he had acquired from sources as diverse as The Kybalion and Stephen Hawking. Or, they’d take a long walk on the grounds of the Grange, James in a fishermen’s sweater if it was a balmy day, and broken loafers, as he vented about the latest misunderstanding between him and the object of his affections, Lily Evans, or Sirius talked about his latest stormy argument and 24 hour breakup with Robbie.   
But, whatever his memories there were, he knew that it belonged to Harry, not him, and he needed to buck up and let Harry have his halcyon days there, unburdened by the past. Sirius sat at his desk, and opened the letter from Draco Malfoy, his young cousin.   
‘Dear God,’ he said, as he read.   
Could it be true, that several young women had been kidnapped and were being held at Malfoy Manor? For what purpose? Who were these girls?  
The Order needed to meet as soon as possible, and discuss the implications and their next move, he decided.


	70. Chapter 70

The school was locked down while Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Flitwick sorted the stray Creatures. Flamel was acting Headmaster, Hartnell acting Deputy Headmaster, and they were flanked by the school’s Head Boy and Girl overseeing the students quartered in the Great Hall to wait to be free to move about the school once again.  
Kashmira Singh went up to the faculty dining table, raised on a dais behind the ornately carved speaker’s podium where Professor Dumbledore addressed them when he made a speech, and had a conversation with the Head Girl, Jamilla Akbar, that Pandora couldn’t hear. Jamilla was a gorgeous Pakistani girl who commonly wore a gauzy veil loosely over her dark hair. She had striking green eyes…that hurt Dora to look upon, because they reminded her of Harry’s. Not because they were so similar, but because of the differences. Harry’s were not the sea green with Mediterranean hints of blue that Jamilla’s were, they were a pure green, like oak leaves backlit with sunshine, like raw emeralds freshly cleaved from a Brazilian mine…and she yearned to look into them and see love. He wasn’t in the Great Hall, no matter how many times she scanned the long tables of chattering students for him. Ron and Hermione weren’t at the Gryffindor table, either. Were they in the Menagerie? She knew him, he ran towards danger, ever the valiant Gryffindor.  
‘Where are you?’ she thought, reaching out into their red chord for the first time in hours.  
Kashmira and Jamilla’s conversation ended, and Kashmira returned to the Ravenclaw table.  
“Well, keep this hushed, you lot, but Jamilla thinks the same as me: it’s the Manticore,” Kashmira said quietly.  
There were fewer Ravenclaw students than any other house, so students tended to sit in clusters according to their year, leaving gaps of empty seats between groups of friends of the same age. It was entirely inconspicuous for Dora, Mordecai, Somachandra, Cressida, and Kashmira to sit in a cluster at the end of the table, where they couldn’t be heard if they talked low.  
“You told her about the Manticore?” Dora asked.  
“I told her to keep her eyes peeled,” Kashmira said. “What’d you find out at that dressmaker’s?”  
“Sarah’s gone to Londinium to perform in Eglantine Stanley’s revue, at the Dionysium theater, according to her friend, Bliss,” Cressida said.  
Looking surprised, Kashmira said, “Oh. Well. So, no foul play on Deverell’s part, after all?”  
Dora frowned. That was the same assumption that Harry had come to, that Sarah’s situation was cut and dry. But, she couldn’t explain it, but that didn’t feel right. Maybe it was Vesta’s insistence, the look on her face when she saw Deverell, that fearful recognition and alarm.  
“I don’t know about that. There’s something…hinky about the whole matter,” Dora said. “Is Deverell so generous as to fund a Squib girl he dallied with in the village in her new theater career? It sounds like something a much older man would do, not a callow schoolboy. The boyfriend scam theory Hermione put forth is a lot more likely-that he was a front for a bigger operation.”  
“Hmm...yes, actually, I understand that. But, what can we do about it?” Kashmira said. “We don’t even know what Sarah looks like!”  
“Oh, you’re right! I hope Vesta left an address with Dr. Lupin-I can say I’d like to bring some flowers or tea round to her and see if I can spy a framed photo of Sarah,” Dora said.  
“Hmm…I don’t want you to put your uncles’ backs up, Pandy. Weren’t you off to Wilshire and London this weekend?” Cressida said. “I can just make a fuss at the shop and say I must have my gown done by Vesta, not some amateur, and I will even take the fabric round to her house if Madam Arklow will be so kind as to give me her address.”  
Mordecai laughed, and Somachandra said, “You’re going to save the day by being an absolute Karen? Well, that’s original!”  
“What’s a Karen?” Cressida and Pandora said at once, blissfully unaware of the Muggle slang for a petulant woman.  
Pandora felt like a dark cloud had gathered over her, at the mention of her weekend trip out of Scotland, but since her friends didn’t know about it, she shrugged the feeling off. She felt the secret sink to the pit of her stomach. Her mind cleared a bit, but there was still half of a shadow. She knew it hadn’t been there before she met her father, but what could she do about it? She was left with the aftermath.  
“I say! Is that Dumbledore, on dragonback?” Mordecai said, looking out the window.  
“Dragonette-they’re smaller,” Dora said offhandedly, and said, “I suppose you all got the same letter from Hermione in the post at lunch, to meet up in Dungeon 2 at midnight, tomorrow?”  
Her friends nodded.  
“We’ve certainly got a lot more to discuss! This was them, I know it,” Somachandra said. Mordecai nodded vehemently.  
“Oy, look, its Harry, Hermione, and Ron,” he added, pointing at the door of the Great Hall.  
His green eyes lit on Dora’s and for a minute, she thought she was going to run to him, or he was going to jog over to her. Then she remembered that they could not, for various reasons. The black cloud was rising to her head again, threatening to obscure any joy or even neutrality that resided in her thoughts.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione rushed to Hagrid’s cabin, and were relieved to see that he was not in the Menagerie. Centaurs were herding their young and elderly, defending them with arrows, into the Forbidden Forest, and griffins, pegasi, and hippogriffs were running wild. Harry, Hermione, and Ron looked into the sky, and saw Dumbledore on the back of a slender dragon, piloting it over the wispy cauldron of a misty cloud over the menagerie, pouring rain.  
“Harry!” Remus said, holding two dark, bulky shapes covered in black fabric aloft with a levitating charm using his wand. “What are you doing out here?”  
“Dr. Lupin, we were on our way to Incantation Class in Beauchamp Hall when we saw and heard the explosion, so we ran out here to check on Hagrid,” Hermione said, out of breath from sprinting.  
“Real consid’rate of yeh, but I’m fine. Go on up to the castle, me an’ Remus ‘re headed up that way ourselves,” Hagrid said.  
“Oh, look, Flitwick and McGonagall,” Remus said.  
His former professors were floating on little clouds like Taoist Immortals, and piloting them like hoverboards to join Dumbledore as he tamed the flames and the Creatures.  
Harry, Hermione, and Ron marveled at the advanced magic, and the sight of their professors taking flight, and then Harry asked his foster father,  
“What are those things you’re taking up to the castle?”  
Remus revolved the objects, and when their faces were turned to Harry he saw that they were Draco’s old friends, Crabbe, and Goyle.  
“I believe they’re classmates of yours’. We’re taking them up to the Headmaster’s office,” Remus.  
“I think the dungeons would be more appropriate,” Hermione said.  
“Well, Hermione, that is the Headmaster’s prerogative,” Remus said, but couldn’t hide a bemused smirk at his lips and glint in his eyes. “You three, its very admirable that you wanted to check on Hagrid, but sometimes running towards danger is borrowing trouble. Now, go ahead to the castle, we’ll be along.”  
Harry cast one more glance at the sight of Dumbledore on the silver dragon. He wondered if, like his grandfather Lieutenant General Potter, the Headmaster had fought in the Dragon Wars.

“Where have you two been?” the Head Boy, Freddie’s older brother Winston Breedlove, said to Ron and Hermione crossly when they made it back into the castle. He was shepherding a group of students, their ties and the inner sleeves of their robes betraying that they belonged to a mix of all four Coven Houses.  
“Held up on the way back from Beauchamp, it was very near to the explosion, and Hagrid held us back until Dumbledore put out the flames in the Menagerie-the Creatures were stampeding, you know,” Hermione said firmly, seamlessly mixing the truth and subtle embellishment with a cool head. So much like Dora, Harry thought. He was sure he had felt something in his belly, a tug, a caress on the inside of his skin, and felt her searching presence, wondering at where he was. It gave him hope.  
Mollified by this likely story, Winston said, “Fine then, that can’t be helped. I could have used all hands-on deck, the Prefects from all four houses, but no matter. Jamilla and I, and Professors Hartnell and Flamel, are in charge while the Headmaster, McGonagall, and Flitwick stabilize the Creatures and the Forest. Go to the Great Hall, that’s where we’re holding everyone who isn’t already in a classroom.”  
Hermione, Ron, and Harry headed to the Great Hall. It looked like breakfast time, with the four tables packed as they were, but the staff table on the dais was empty save for Hartnell, Flamel, and the Head Girl, an 8th year named Jamilla Akbar.  
Harry’s eyes met Dora’s…were they broken up? Was this the right time to talk? Had she really reached out to him? They still had their cover to maintain. Harry went to the Gryffindor table, and reluctantly broke their gaze.  
Ginny, who had once had a healthy interest in Magizoology, was chattering to Henrietta Grimshaw about how the animals in the menagerie were likely to react to a stressor like loud noise, and then she noticed Harry.  
“Um, do you remember what you said about the check?” she asked.  
“Right. Madam Puddifoot. We wouldn’t want her to send thugs around to shake you down for it, Gin,” Ron said.  
“I was talking to Harry,” Ginny said grumpily.  
“No, you were shaking him down for money, being tacky. Come on!” Ron said.  
“He said he’d help me!” Ginny said.  
Harry noticed that Roger Shepherd was listening in from the Hufflepuff table. Ginny noticed, and gave Roger a bare, almost involuntary glance. She looked sheepish, and cast down her eyes.  
“What about Madam Puddifoot?” Henrietta asked, and Ginny’s dark eyes widened in alarm.  
“That bloody stool Ginny broke when you two were last round there, the old cow’s sticking Ginny for it, because it was some kind of antique,” Ron grumbled.  
“What? You’ve got me mixed up with someone else. I’ve never been there. I like coffee, not tea,” Henrietta said, and turned to talk to another girl called Saskia Worsley; Harry got the impression that she was pointedly ignoring them all by starting a new conversation, not wanting to get swept up in a scene.  
Ginny looked as if she had swallowed a frog. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth was poised as if she was holding something in that wanted to come out. Her breath seemed to be bated, as if she was frozen.  
“Gin…who were you at Madam Puddifoot’s with?” Harry asked.  
“Yeah, and how did you come to break a piece of furniture there?” Hermione said, with a bemusedly raised eyebrow.  
“Um….” Ginny said.  
“Have you got a boyfriend? That’s what this was about?” Ron said.  
“I can’t think! Shut up!” she told her brother.  
“Who is it?” Ron said.  
“Shut up!” Ginny said again, half muttering and half shouting, which Harry didn’t know was possible.  
“Shut up? Me? You’re the one going to Madam Puddifoot’s and letting yourself get tossed round on furniture! Looks like he’s stuck you with the bill for the damage, too! Begging, making us look weak, and cheap and hard up for cash, like some kind of…like a family of…” Ron said, and things were turning serious. If they had been teasing Ginny over her secret boyfriend before, they weren’t any longer. Ron’s face was getting red, his voice deeper, and Hermione and Harry both felt like quiet was their only option.  
“Like trash? Is that what you were going to say? Because its what everyone already thinks! We’re barely wizards, hardly respectable, and so poor it’s a mercy oxygen is free!” Ginny fired back, tears shining in her black eyes so that they looked like black jewels.  
“I’M DOING THE BEST I CAN! DO YOU WANT ME TO DROP OUT OF SCHOOL, OR WHAT?!” Ron shouted.  
Harry put his hand on Ron’s arm. “Calm down!” Harry said.  
Roger Shepherd came over from the Hufflepuff table. He looked disheveled, pale, bags under his eyes, messy hair, every bit the sleepless intellectual he posed as.  
“Oy,” he said confrontationally to Ron.  
“Get away from me,” Ron snarled. “this is none of your business.”  
“Come with me, Gin,” Roger said firmly, and Ginny looked relieved.  
She looked down at her black Mary Jane school shoes, her face obscured by a curtain of red hair the color of fire and cinnamon, as she followed Roger to the Hufflepuff table. Ptolemy stood up, straining to see Ginny as she approached, as if she could not see enough of her, and looked in her direction as if waiting to see whether she could meet Ginny’s eye, and catch her attention, perhaps call her over to sit with her, Ptolemy, not Roger. Ginny could see nothing past her veil of hair, and Harry got the impression that she was crying. Her shoulders were shaking minutely, and Roger was caressing her back. His friends, Davy and Posy, were looking at Ginny somewhere between disgust and disinterest. Ptolemy turned to Harry with questions in her gray eyes as she met his gaze. He shrugged, honestly without an answer.  
Ron exhaled loudly, stood up from his chair, threw it to the ground and stormed off. He made for the door, but Winston Breedlove made to stop him. Ron ignored the Head Boy and stormed out of the Great Hall.  
“What is he doing? He’s a Prefect! And, he could get kicked off the Quidditch team!” Harry said. “What the Hell happened there?”  
“I…take it Ron sees Ginny borrowing money so openly as reproach, that he hasn’t been providing for the family adequately since his father’s death…which only drives home all the grief, anger, and sadness he feels, and has been trying not to feel,” Hermione said.  
“I keep telling him he needs to talk about it, instead of hiding behind sex and sport,” Freddie chimed in. He was standing behind them.  
“Freddie,” Harry said, relieved, “Can you go after him?”  
“I think you should go. You’re the one who understands him,” Freddie said.  
Harry couldn’t disagree with that, and looked at Hermione to see if she thought it would be okay. She nodded, and he went after Ron.  
Winston looked at him sternly, but Harry said, “Let me talk him down before he does something daft, all right?”  
“Fine,” Winston said, but it was clear that he didn’t like it.  
“Ron!” Harry said, hitting the corridor, and his best friend turned around. Ron saw that it was Harry, and they walked in stony silence on Ron's part back to Gryffindor Tower.  


Standing on the Afghani carpet in the middle of Gryffindor common room was Dora. Her gray eyes, wild curly brown hair, her slender form and full bosom in her gray school uniform sweater and skirt…Harry’s heart burst with savoring familiarity at the sight of her. She was so dear to him, she was light, color, music, and home. He glanced at Ron, who gave him an encouraging smile and nodded his head towards Dora, telling Harry to go. He gave Ron a pregnant look of gratitude. His soul was soothed and his body was liberated thanks to not only their physical love, but the unconditional friendship and understanding Ron had given him.  
“Harry,” Dora said softly.  
“Dora, I’m sorry. I do care,” Harry said. “Not just Sarah, but, about all of it. The things that happen to girls…its wrong. And its not your fault, Dora.”  
“I’m sorry I blamed you, and said you were someone you’re not, Harry,” she said, and put her hands on his shoulders. She looked into his green eyes, and caressed his chest over his school sweater. He looked into Dora’s eyes to steady himself. He tried to catch his breath, even as the fever rose beneath his skin. As exhilarating and liberating as it had been to love Ron physically, only Dora gave him that fever…Ron gave him comfort and freedom, whereas Dora set him on fire. Cradled in the flame was his adoration of her, a feeling that was almost like the verge of tears. Ron was right-he did know what love was! He simply hadn’t realized it!  
He kissed her hairline, her curls, her nose, her cheeks, and then finally briefly kissed her lips several times, butterfly kisses, getting to know her warmth, feel, and taste, once again, honey, sunshine, and silk.  
“Dora, I’m sorry that I got so angry. I want to protect you…and I’ve been telling myself it’s because you’re my sister. That’s not it, Dora. That’s not what you are, Dora…I love you…you’re my…my…” Harry said, looking for the word.  
“You’re mine, too,” she whispered, and kissed him.  
“Well, all is right with the world, it seems,” Hermione said, and plopped on the couch. “Classes are cancelled for the rest of the day, and Professor Fortune wants us to meet him in his office. Dora, will you be coming?”  
Dora smiled, and took Harry’s hand. “Yes!” she said, glad to be restored to Harry and their group of friends.


	71. Chapter 71

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry receives guidance from Rob, Belwina, and Natalie; Roger pressures Ginny to approach Anthea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be safe, be well, and enjoy!

“You really aren’t angry, anymore?” Harry asked, as he and Dora climbed the stairs, which wound past a mullioned window.  
Dora shook her head, and said," I’m sorry that I stopped speaking to you. I didn’t mean to make you feel alone.”  
“I didn’t mean to make you feel alone either, Dora,” Harry said.  
Dora took Harry’s hand, and squeezed it. “I’ve felt that way for a long time. But, it felt so much worse after learning that my father was alive. Its different than being an orphan. He abandoned me.”  
“Its not your fault, Dora. And its his loss. I don’t know why your father made the decisions he made-maybe he was mad, maybe he’s just not as kind as everyone always thought. Or, he thought he was protecting you,” Harry said. “either way, he was wrong. It’s a good thing he was, though.”  
“Oh?” Dora said.  
“Yeah. You belong in our family. Me, Remus, and Sirius, and Lucy-we’re your family,” he said, the scant light in the stairwell gathering in his emerald green eyes as he held Dora’s hand and looked into her eyes.  
“I love you, Harry,” she said.  
The corridor was empty, save for Harry, Ron, and Hermione heading to Fortune’s classroom. They opened the door, and saw, to their surprise, Fortune mixing a potion on his desk. The cauldron spewed a cloud of steam, and the fumes of it had an overpoweringly medicinal smell. Natalie, wearing plastic goggles, was gagging and sticking out her tongue in distaste. As Harry and his friends crossed the empty classroom, the fumes hit them too. Ron sneezed, Hermione coughed, and Dora asked,  
“Professor, I smell…aloe vera, echinacea, tea tree…is that for skin?” Dora said, holding back a cough.  
“Favor for a friend with a condition. But, we’ll leave it for later,” Fortune said, and put a lid on the cauldron, to everyone’s relief, and turned off the flame beneath it.  
“So, what did you do with Crabbe and Goyle, Professor?” Harry said.  
“Call me Rob,” He reminded Harry, and then answered, “sent ‘em along to the provincial Aurors-that’s what you do with criminals, in’it, and those sad little baby thugs have been Azkaban bound since they were born.”  
“Professor, did either of them admit anything about the Manticore, when you questioned them?” Hermione asked.  
“They can’t. Someone’s placed a ban on ‘em. I can lift it, but I’m just above using that kind of magic on kids. Right now, we gotta do things through official, ethical channels, so we don’t give the opposition the rope to hang us with,” Fortune said. “But, the Aurors will get what they need out of ‘em.”  
“What if it comes to war, with Slytherin-do we still have to be ethical?” Harry asked.  
“Nope, you’re not tripping me up, boy. Didn’t I tell you that your mother’s got a mouth on her? I’m not getting a new arsehole ripped by her spectral shade for telling you ‘by any means necessary’,” Fortune said.  
Hermione and Pandora laughed. Harry smiled bemusedly.  
“Was she really that tough?” Harry asked.  
The pictures he had seen of his mother were on her wedding day and Sweet Sixteen, both occasions where she was wearing white and looked like a princess from a fairy tale, sweet and feminine. The woman Fortune described sounded like a force to be reckoned with, like Ginny when they played on the same Quidditch team, tough and full of energy.  
“She was! She was always a mother, Lil. She was our mother, me, Sev, Remus, before she went and had you…and then she just got tougher, when you were born. She would’ve done anything to protect you, and she made it out of some nasty scrapes. Never in a million years thought she’d go, Lil, and it was war, you know, we lost people all the time. At least it was on her feet, fighting for what she loved most in the world, you and Rose, taking Death Eater scum with her,” Fortune said, his voice mingled with love, sadness, and pride. Natalie comfortingly caressed his shoulders.  
“Professor, take me there,” Harry said hastily.  
“Where, Harry?” Robert asked.  
“To Washington. To the San Juan Islands, where my mother died,” Harry said.  
“You won’t find anything out there, Harry. And If you want to speak to her ghost, she’ll appear to you on your 17th birthday, wherever you are, you don’t have to go anywhere,” Natalie said.  
“I know, but…it’s the last place I lived with her. And, my sister, Rose. I just want to see Orcas Island,” Harry said.  
Fortune’s heterochromatic eyes met Harry’s, and he held them meaningfully.  
“One day. But, we need to work on those shields. Let’s head to the mill house, all right?” Fortune said.  
Harry nodded. Only the way they prepared to face Voldemort and his dark forces at the present moment could help them in the future, not the past.  
“Well, no one’s allowed on the grounds right now, so we can’t use my portal down in Hagrid’s. Step in here, then, you lot, one after the other,” Fortune said, and opened his briefcase on the floor.  
“In there?” Hermione asked.  
Fortune nodded. She went first, stepped into the suitcase, and marveled, “Wow!” as she disappeared. Harry heard her feet hitting steps, walking down, and when he could see the top of her curly head no longer he followed her. He emerged on the winding wooden staircase in the mill house, stepping into the main room of the space. The pipes were exposed along the ceiling, and a large wooden wheel dominated the space. An Afghani carpet lay on the floor, and numerous magical antiques were on various shelves and tables.  
“This place looks like my uncles’ shop, Between Scylla and Charybdis,” Harry said.  
“They’ve been some of my best customers over the years,” Rob said, arriving through the portal with Ron, Natalie, and Dora.  
“Robbie? Nattie? Is that you? I hear voices!” Belwina called from the kitchen.  
“They’re only in your head, love-don’t answer ‘em,” Rob quipped.  
Natalie smirked, and they shared a warm look.  
“Hardy-har, aren’t you funny. You could host the Very, Very, Very Late show,” Belwina said, appearing at the eaves of the doorway between the main room, wearing oven mitts and a gauzy, floor trailing halter top dress, pearlescent mala beads with a white tassle dangling in the cleft of skin between panes fabric of her dress. Her skin was bronze, her eyes were a darker green than Harry’s, the color of pine, her hair fell in long tendrils. Harry wondered how she could be the same age as Rob, Sirius, and Remus, and yet appear to be in her mid-20s at most.  
“Hope you guys are hungry,” she said in a sweet, warm sing-song, looking at the teens.  
“Yeah, we are,” Ron said.  
Belwina smiled, pleased, and led the way to the kitchen. She waved her rose quartz crystal tipped wand and plates began setting themselves. Food appeared on them, gooey and golden macaroni-and-cheese, flaky layered buttermilk biscuits, and dark green stewed collard greens.  
In the tradition of southern cooks, she said brightly, “Have some!”  
“Outdid yourself, love. Tuck in, everybody. Tonight’s gonna be a little…in depth,” Rob said.  
“Because it’s getting worse, isn’it? First that Imperiused Muggle, Frank Grimes, at the shopping mall, and we read about the pop music concert…and the Guild has only just opened an investigation that Voldemort is back…” Harry said.  
“Not gonna lie to ya, Harry, and you’re too bright to believe me: he’s out there, gathering forces, hurting people, and getting stronger with the chaos he’s raising. But, that kind of energy is more quickly exhausted than what we’ve got. The Buddha said that joy follows a pure thought like a shadow that never leaves. That’s our energy,” Rob said, with conviction.  
“Joy?” Harry asked.  
“Love. Joy, compassion, balance, goodwill,” Rob said. “I’ve seen what love can do. If Lil and Sev had never found me…I’d be dead. Or worse, I’d be just like the people I grew up with. Lil and Sev gave me love, and friendship, and that gave me a life. And when that’s the energy you’ve got…Blimey, I wish your dad was here-he could really bang on about energy!”  
Harry smiled. “I get it. If we do good, for good reasons, it will make us stronger, and…sort of…amplify,” he said.  
“Exactly. Our actions join the energy of those of others. We collectively draw on and contribute to the energy of a given time-that’s what people mean when they say, ‘raise your vibration.’. What do you think would happen if every citizen of every nation was actively working towards fair trade, nuclear disarmament, and closing the gaps in disparities of wealth and opportunity between those who have them and those who are denied them? We’ll never all be on the same page, but a great push of many can move a great weight,” Natalie said.  
“But,” Belwina said, “The thing about, for lack of a better word, “positive” energy is that, aurically speaking, its molecules are spaced far apart, and so called ‘negative’ energy can more easily infiltrate those empty spaces. Like when kids dig a hole with their little plastic pail and shovel at the beach, and the water rushes in. The very receptivity that allows you to let in love and light can let in the dark.”  
“Bloody Hell! Damned if you do, damned if you don’t, eh?” Ron said, through a mouth full of collard greens.  
“Well, that’s why the shields are so important. Think about the word ‘negative’-what’s it mean?” Robbie said.  
“Um…bad. Unhappy. Pessimistic,” Harry said.  
“That’s the way we understand it. But, think of what word that word contains. Negate. Negative things negate-stop, hinder, impede. Water is often considered yin, a negative force, and think of why-water can put out fires, wash away whole islands, uproot trees, knock you off your feet where you are standing. Its force can knock away whatever you’ve built, and destroy whatever has been created,” Natalie said.  
“Like the Killing Curse. Its like a wave. It can’t be blocked, and it…takes life,” Harry said.  
There was a solemn moment, and then Rob gently rejoined, “Yeah, like that.”  
“So, what, therefore, does positive truly mean?” Pandora asked.  
“A positive charge is hot and dynamic. Positivity is dynamism. Its creative. And that momentum produces heat, which is necessary for life, but it can go a bit to far, too. Like the fires out in California-in healthy conditions, they clear the forest floor and allow new growth to thrive. In a bad year, when there’s already drought from too much sun and not enough rain, they cause catastrophic fires,” Rob said. “The balance is all off.”  
“You mean, the disturbances in the earth’s ecosystems, seasons, and natural phenomenon are down to magical imbalance?” Hermione asked.  
“Not just magic. Energy. The urges that have been work in humanity, Muggle and Wizard alike. Greed, avarice, ambition, imperialism, genocide. We’ve all been drinking from the same poisoned punch, and look at the world its gotten us. Voldemort reeled people in by talking about the abuses of Muggles, at first: ‘Oh, look what they’ve done to the world, wrecking the environment, starting wars, human rights abuses, its time for wizards to rise up.’ But, we’re just the same. We’re all one, that’s the trouble. But, there’s beauty in our connectivity, too,” Rob said.  
“People will tell you to stay on this side or the other because of who you are, in terms of race, or gender, or background, or age, that one thing is your heritage and another isn’t for you. But, when nothing that is human is alien to you, think of what you can share with humanity! We’re all human, so our heritage is Beethoven, the Louvre, Victoria Falls, the Grand Canyon, Jerusalem, Mecca, Paris, the Beatles, Shakespeare, and everything in between. Its all human. We’re all human. And all over the earth right now, people are ripping off the blindfolds, and tearing down the walls, recognizing the abuses that have kept the oppressed from the full human experience, and saying, ‘No more’. Receptivity is about recognizing where the world is, and going with the wave, with the wind,” Natalie said.  
“There’s a time to fight, a time to make peace, a time to listen, a time to use your voice, a time to live, a time to die,” Belwina said. “Its all about timing.”  
Harry could listen to them forever. Their voices encouraged him, gave shape, meaning, and purpose to all he had been feeling. It could not erase the shadow nor scourge the taint of Voldemort completely, but he felt buoyed and fortified. If Voldemort appeared in front of the mill house at that moment, Harry knew he could face him, the way his mother had faced her killers and fought them off to the best of her ability, secure that this was the right destiny, for the right purpose.  
They finished eating, and Harry helped Wina with the dishes.  
“I had a sister,” he told her.  
She smiled. “Rose,” she said.  
“You knew?” Harry said.  
“Yeah. Sirius was…wrecked, after your dad’s body was found. They were best friends, and I think they’re distant cousins. But, I think he loved Jamie so much because he thought Jamie was a better man than him. The right kind of wizard, you know? From a good family, and well meaning, noble. You and your Mom, no one knew what became of you. When she came to him for documents at the Molly House, and we found out she had been in hiding to have her second baby…it was like someone had popped champagne! The first good news we’d had in a long time, and the best news that could come out of your family’s story, as we knew it then,” Wina said. “But, I never saw her again, after that, and I never saw Rose…”  
She sounded genuinely sad. Harry liked her, and because of her missing son, felt he could understand how he felt about Rose.  
“Um, can I ask you something?” Harry said.  
Belwina nodded.  
“If you were in the Order of the Phoenix, and knew my mum and dad, why do you look so…I mean, how are you so….” Harry said.  
“Young?” she said, bemusedly. “well, I’m a time traveler! I came from another dimension. You see, my mother is a great witch. She has a coven. I was raised in it. She didn’t treat her natural daughters, me and my sister, Hecabe, any different from the foundling girls she took in and trained in magic. We were all her handmaidens, and throwing each other under every bus on the schedule to impress her, while she deftly played us against each other. She sent me to the past to seduce Robbie and have a child with him, because he’s descended from some Irish king and she wanted to use the child in a sacrifice. All I had to do was waltz into a pub looking just like an ex-girlfriend he was hung up on, at the time, and boom-hook, line, sinker.”  
Harry didn’t know which bit shocked him more.  
Belwina continued, “But…I didn’t want to come home to my mother and her Dark magic cult after I knew what it was like to be loved. I wanted Robbie, and our baby, and my friends: your parents, Sirius, Remus, all the lovely people I met in the Order of the Phoenix. They weren’t trying to obey or please someone with every breath, they believed in what they were doing, and they were doing the right thing. I wanted to stay,” she said.  
“You said you hid your son from your sister. So, did she come after you, Hecabe?” Harry asked.  
Belwina nodded. “Yeah. Robbie will never forgive me for hiding our son. I just hope I saved him from Bebe. She’s relentless. She’d do anything for our mother’s love.” She shuddered and said, “Harry, please remember this: the child who was never embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth. That’s all these people are: Voldemort, Severus, Bebe, people like them…children who feel like no one ever let them in. These atrocities are their vengeance. Some part of them still hopes they’ll be picked up and soothed out of their tantrum like a screaming child.”  
“Are you saying that to try to get me to spare Snape?” Harry asked.  
Belwina, to his surprise, shrugged. “I don’t know your destiny or his, Harry. If he’s meant to die by your hand, who’s to say? And if it is, what else in the web of time would we be disturbing if we keep you from it? Maybe his death is something you’ve earned, to repay all you’ve lost, and maybe it is the justice he’s earned for his wicked life…or, maybe still, it’s the mercy he’s earned for whatever measure of good he’s done. There are as many possibilities as there are stars in the sky,” she said.  
American magic was different, Harry judged. It was…gray.  
Rob stood at the door of the kitchen. His eyes were devoid of humor, he had a subtle air of formidableness that Harry associated with Dumbledore and McGonagall, powerful wizards that usually kept the force of their magic sheathed in approachability. Belwina, too, was different. Her breathy voice, floaty manner, and sweet, warm personality made her seem very human, usually…but, she seemed taller and graver, more still, and focused, like a god from a machine in an ancient drama. The air around her sang with magic like a dark forest echoing with the unseen song of frogs and night birds, other sounds, the footfalls of hungry, silkenly prowling animals that sent an ancestral shiver up and down the spine.  
“That’s enough, love. I know you were taught differently…but that’s not the kind of magical theory I’m teaching him, all right? Voldemort’s not getting his hands on Lil’s kid,” Rob said.  
“I loved her, too,” Belwina said.  
“I know. I know,” Rob said. “Come on, Harry.”  
Harry followed Rob.  
“But, murder splits your soul, doesn’t it?” Harry asked. “Why would Wina say maybe it’s okay for me to kill Snape?”  
Rob looked annoyed, and hesitated to answer, then sighed as he did so, and said, “Its not okay! Its never okay to take a life! But, she was raised…different. There are no schools like Hogwarts out here. America just isn’t as old as she thinks she is. Its crowded out here, things change fast, and old shit from the rest of the world washes up here, but sometimes distorted and riddled with holes…but, people get hold of things and start embroidering, practicing their own version and teaching it to others who want a little peace of mind in the midst of all the lies and motion. Belwina might believe that it would be some kind of quantum check and balance if Sev dies, to balance out your Mum’s death, or being a Death Eater in general…but, you don’t have to believe that, Harry. If you do, you’ll let the Dark Lord in.”  
“What if that’s the only way?” Harry said. “What is she really is suffering?”  
“Harry, trust me, she’s not. Lily’s...around,” Rob said.  
“Right now?” Harry said.  
“Nah, this is too far afield, even for a witch’s ghost. But, she’s around, she’s at Hogwarts, I talk to her…and she has a lot to tell you,” Rob said.  
“And my dad?” Harry asked quietly.  
“Jamie’s the same. He’ll always be the same,” Robert said fondly. “He’s…you’ll love him. He’s kind to everyone, and he’s sort of an oddball.”  
Harry smiled. He’d gathered, from Sirius’s and Remus’s reminiscences, that his father was sort of toffish, an ironic offset to his outspoken Northerner mother. He wondered if they playfully bickered, like the Grangers. Harry wondered who he was more like, which of his parents.  
Rob clapped him on the shoulder. “I never knew my mum, either, you know? I…I know, Harry. Maybe not exactly, but…”  
“Thanks,” Harry said, and he meant it.  
They joined the others-Natalie, Dora, Ron, and Hermione, by the river. The night did prove, as Rob had promised, to be ‘in depth’. They practiced grounding and raising energy, and sheathing their auras, and amplifying the vibrations of their auric shields to cast ahead of their bodies.  
“Remember, receptivity! You want to shield yourself from negative energy, but let in enough positive energy to keep your shield growing. You have a choice, and this is how you put it into action-you decide what’s allowed in your space!” Rob reminded them.  
“And focus on your breath!” Natalie chimed in. “Don’t lose touch with your center of gravity!”  
Eventually, their auric shields became visible. Hermione’s was molten gold, like a river of lava. Ron’s was blue like a blue novelty lightbulb. Dora’s was a blinding white light that she could barely be seen at the center of, that was painful to look at. Harry’s came out to a pearlescent, shifting mist-like cloud swirling around with. Natalie and Rob were very pleased with all except Dora’s.  
“It’s a little too positively charged, that’s all,” Natalie said, “which means that you’re feeding on your own strong emotions, and you’re going to wear yourself out. And, without receptivity, you might be protected from attacks from the outside, but you’re not letting in energy that can nourish and support you, either.”  
“What should I do to correct it?” Dora said.  
“Let’s go through some cleansing practices, and how to ground afterwards,” Rob said.  
“There should be an Energy Magic class at Hogwarts!” Hermione enthused.  
“Yeah, it would be loads more useful than Arithmancy, that’s for sure,” Ron said, earning a scowl from Hermione.  
Harry laughed. He met Dora’s eye, and she, too, was smiling at their friends’ banter. Harry checked in through their chord, making sure she was okay. He felt a feeling like lift-off on a broom, when he knew that he was catching the wind and leaving the earth. Dora’s body broke out into her shield, an opalescent aura that danced with colors amidst its starlight glare. Harry activated his, too, and he felt the waving borders of their energy wave against each other.

“I haven’t got the money,” Ginny said.  
She was so embarrassed she couldn’t look at Roger, after that scene in the Great Hall. Instead, she looked out the window of the Astronomy Tower. Roger stood behind her. He kissed her neck and one hand played with the fiery silk of her hair while the other caressed her bottom.  
“I gathered that,” Roger said. “we’ll try again.”  
“Not Harry,” she said.  
“No, not him,” Roger said. “But, the Malfoys owe you. You told me about how they never payed your dad, before he died.”  
“So? I can’t march up to Malfoy Manor and demand a check from Lucius Malfoy,” Ginny said.  
“No. But, his wife and daughter live in the village,” Roger said. “I’m sure your old friend Anthea would be…concerned, if you said you were going to talk to the papers about how her family treats their tenants. Like serfs! Might just tarnish Maurice Buttershaw’s man of the people reputation, to be married to a bitch with a family like that.”  
“Anthea’s not a bitch! Don’t talk like that!” Ginny said.  
She wished she had her broom. She wanted to fly. She imagined that the real part of her, her awareness and personality, was flying out the astronomy tower window, over the trees of the Forbidden Forest, towards the snowy mountains beyond.  
“I’m just saying, that’s how people would see it. But, if she agrees to help you with this little emergence expense. Vox isn’t just a magazine, its an operation. A bill like this is the last thing Gordie needs, Gin,” Roger said.  
“All right. But, isn’t this…blackmail?” Ginny asked.  
“Its citizens taking justice into their own hands. The system failed your father, but you have the power to make it right. People like the Malfoys…they hold back what they owe honest workers, even though it wouldn’t cost them anything substantial. It’s the principle of the thing, to keep us in our place,” Roger said.  
‘Us?’ Ginny thought.  
His family weren’t the Malfoys, but he had still grown up in a townhouse in Londinium, probably with a modest staff of servants. She knew better than to say that when he was in this kind of mood. He had been sweet, and sympathetic, after her gaffe and Ron’s meltdown-at least, he had seemed tender and gentle as they kissed in the astronomy tower. Grateful, Ginny had even taken off her school sweater and let Roger unbutton her white blouse. She believed that he cared…why else would he be telling her what to do? It must be in her best interest, he was older and smarter.  
“Let’s go,” Roger said, and they left the tower. With an easy, almost apologetic amiability quite different to the intensity he often displayed, Roger explained to the Head Boy, Winston Breedlove, that Ginny had dinner with relatives in the village, and she really couldn’t miss it, and asked for permission to leave the school grounds.  
“Fine then, just be back by midnight,” Breedlove said, and wrote them a pass.  
As they headed out to call a Conveyance, Ginny marveled, “How do you get people to listen to you like that?”  
“People see what they want to see, Gin,” he said.  
In the school carriage, Roger resumed the ardor he had shown in the astronomy tower. Whenever he got her alone, he didn’t wait to kiss her hungrily, and touch her. His hands roamed to places where she wasn’t entirely comfortable with the newness of being touched, but she wasn’t sure how to say so. She didn’t want to make the one person on her side angry. She felt more at ease and excited when she thought of Lucy-she made a very convincing boy in her ‘Ptolemy Fanshawe’ disguise, slender and elegant, slightly aloof, but warm and witty in company. Ginny regretted that she had ignored her when they were kids at Malfoy Manor-she had, like everyone, been enthralled with Anthea, and basked in any attention that the eldest Malfoy child showed her; second to her was Dora, whom Ginny envied for the way she was spoiled by her aunt and uncle, given beautiful clothes and introduced to important visitors, as if she was an adult, as the famous alchemists’ daughter. Lucy was…just a baby, in Ginny’s estimation, even though they were barely a year apart in age.  
If Lucy were really a boy, she’d be a beautiful boy, Ginny thought, and finally felt the quivering sensations she was meant to as Roger feasted on and fondled her body. 

When they arrived at Buttershaw Hall, the reality of what she was about to do hit her, and she was so nervous her stomach hurt. A light rain had begun. She and Roger disembarked the carriage, and Ginny felt trapped when the Conveyance disappeared, even though they were standing on the drive, beneath the open sky.  
They walked to the door. Roger knocked, and they were admitted in by a Squib butler called Graves. He walked them down an entrance hall with pale yellow walls and a vaulted white ceiling lined with chandeliers dripping champagne colored light.  
“Wow,” Ginny breathed.  
“This is just a gold gloss over all their shit. They cover their crimes in luxury so that we’ll be too awed to challenge them,” Roger said sharply. He seemed displeased with her…as if he knew that she had been thinking of someone else when they kissed.  
The butler was a professional and knew better than to walk too rain-soaked students into the Buttershaws’ dining room. Instead, Anthea came to the interest hall. Her dark blonde hair, which tended to wild waves, had been straightened, and she was wearing a lovely Muggle dress with full, sheer sleeves, a high collar, and a pleated skirt, in a Wedgewood blue color.  
“Ginny, dear! You look like an evicted dryad! Come, get warmed up by the fire, at the table. We’ll have a place set for you-and a glass of port, to be sure,” Anthea said.  
“We can’t stay,” Roger said brusquely.  
Guilt squirmed in Ginny’s stomach like a goldfish. Why did Anthea have to be so nice? But, was she, really, if she lived in a house with chandeliers, while Ginny’s dad hadn’t even been able to afford a hospital?  
Anthea was no fool. As she looked between Roger and Ginny she saw that something was up.  
“Well…what have you come for, then?” she asked.  
“My dad…” Ginny murmured.  
Roger outlined the story that Ginny was prepared to tell, and how such a scandal regarding his wife’s natal family could hurt Maurice’s standing in the eyes of the public, at such a sensitive time in the Guild. As he talked, Anthea’s expression became less and less welcoming and kind, more and more shrewd, so like her cousin Sirius when he was taking the measure of someone, and not impressed.  
“Ginevra, dear, is that what you want?” Anthea asked.  
Ginny was frozen, a pillar of salt. Who could she truly choose-the daughter of her mother’s old employer, who fawned and professed undying affection when someone was in her presence, but had truly lived a self-serving life like the rest of her class? Anthea’s escape from the Manor had benefitted only herself, she had even abandoned Dora and Draco. Roger, on the other hand, was in love with her…the only boy who had ever cared…  
Anthea deduced all she needed to from Ginny’s silence.  
“Wait here, you two,” she went upstairs.  
“Well…this is going well. Good idea, Gin,” Roger said.  
“It was your idea,” Ginny reminded him. Roger said nothing.  
After a short wait that felt longer because it was tense, Anthea returned down the carpeted staircase holding a necklace made of several diamonds and emeralds.  
“This should fetch a pretty penny, if you know the right dealer. When my Uncle Sirius wants to get rid of something, he generally consults a one Mundungus Fletcher-ask for him at the Hog’s Head until you get him,” Anthea said coldly.  
Roger stroked Ginny’s back, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Anthea held the necklace out to Ginny, and her hand shook as she accepted it.  
“How do we know if we’re getting what its worth? Give me a ballpark figure,” Roger said.  
Anthea rolled her blue-gray eyes witheringly. “That necklace has been in my mother’s family since, at least, the reign of Mary Tudor. As the Muggles say, ‘Give me a break.’ As I said, the right dealer will know just what caliber of craftsmanship he has in his hands. My Great Aunt Walburga gave it to Mamma when she was wed. She gave it to me a few months after I eloped with Maurice. Her servant, Snape, brought her here unbeknownst to Father. I took it as a gesture of forgiveness and reconciliation on her part. I shall always have her gesture- you can have the necklace,” she said.  
It made Ginny feel grasping and greedy.  
Anthea’s eyes met her’s, and looked into them, held them, though Ginny wanted very much to look away, to run away, to fly away.  
As if casting a curse upon her, Anthea gravely said, “He doesn’t love you.”


	72. Chapter 72

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ptolemy researches Lily; Ginny accompanies Roger to Londinium, and ends up in danger; Severus runs into Ginny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once again for following The Coven Wars pt. 1, The Alchemist's Daughter! Stay safe, be well, and enjoy the latest chapter.

Ptolemy wasn’t kidding-she really did have a Muggle Studies project on notable Muggleborn witches of the 20th century. Scholarship on Lily Potter truly was scarce-after copying out a few helpful passages about her death presumably at the hands of Voldemort in a slender few of the library’s books, Ptolemy was hard pressed as to where to search next. Ginny was also scarce-Ptolemy had followed her and Roger Shepherd down the corridor a little ways, once the lockdown was over and the Great Hall was emptied, but when they started towards the staircase that led towards the astronomy tower, she knew not to follow them any longer.  
Of course, she wanted to challenge Roger to a duel, maim him, and then consolingly hold a gratefully teary Ginny…but it just didn’t seem the night would be that sort of night.   
“Having a block in your research on Mrs. Potter?” Madam Pince asked.  
“Yes. Professor Fortune was out. Any more personal friends of hers’ going spare around here?” Ptolemy asked. She’d meant it facetiously, but Madam Pince answered,   
“Well, until recently, yes! Professor Snape was another one of her companions. They often studied together. Two very quiet, well behaved children who took their studies quite seriously, particularly Potions, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. I believe Mrs. Potter aspired to be an Auror, but, you know, how marriage and a family can rather impede a woman from her girlhood ambitions. In any case, she had the mind for it! A most able Prefect, she was, good at solving a conundrum,” Pince said.   
“Really? Why, that’s terribly fascinating!” Lucy said.  
“Now, the other Prefect when Mrs. Potter was on duty was Remus Lupin. He lives in the village, so I don’t think it would be unreasonable to arrange an interview with him! He’s the barman at the Pendragon Inn,” Pince said.   
Ptolemy didn’t clue her in to the fact that she knew Remus quite well, and in fact lived in his house. Ptolemy Fanshawe was posing as an orphan who stayed with an aunt in the village, a neighbor of theirs’ called Griselda Bickerdyke. Ptolemy had only met the woman once, when she posed as her guardian while Professor Sprout gave them a tour of the Hogwarts grounds and explained how different Hogwarts would be to her supposed old school: the Sweetecocke School of Magical Arts on the Isle of Wight.  
“I shall have a look in on him one day,” Lucy said. “So, Snape, Fortune, and Mr. Lupin were her closest friends in her schoolgirl days?”  
Pince nodded, and said, “Yes, and they were all terribly bright, all from the same village in Yorkshire, and all raised amongst Muggles. I think the Headmaster was awfully pleased with their progress-in those days, you see, letting Muggleborns in was still rather controversial, and they were a credit. Let’s have a look at some old Yearbooks, shall we? That should give you an idea…”  
Ptolemy glanced at the library door. This would be the perfect time for Ginny to show up, hair streaming behind her like the whipping flame of a torch, her black eyes full of light, walking in an athlete’s swift and powerful gait towards Ptolemy. But, the rain continued to fall, the hour grew later, and still, no Ginny. Ptolemy figured she would head up to Gryffindor Tower before bed and share whatever she found with Ginny. The password, Hermione had told her, was ‘bumfuzzle’, in case she needed to get in to speak to Dora.  
Pince brought down 8 yearbooks, from Lily Potter’s time at school. Ptolemy flipped through, feeling a jolt of excitement whenever her picture came up. She looked stunningly like Ginny-the same cinnamon red hair, same build, same smile, the only marked difference was that the eyes shining out of the photos at Ptolemy were green, not dark. There was Lily sitting by the lake with friends, Lily in a Gryffindor red sweater on the day of a Quidditch match, Lily with her fellow prefect, Remus Lupin, Lily being named Head Girl, and her future husband James Potter being invested Head Boy. He looked very like Harry, but not quite as thin. Lily was certainly an accomplished student, but nothing in the Yearbooks told Ptolemy why she looked so much like Ginny Weasley.  
“Madam Pince!” Ptolemy called.   
She remembered a film she had watched with Dr. Lupin called “Running On Empty”, in which the young hero, Danny, goes to a library and looks at microfilm files of the newspaper. Could the Wizarding papers be archived at Hogwarts, for students referencing recent history? She asked the librarian, who said,   
“Yes, of course!”  
Rather than strips of microfilm to be projected, however, Pince directed her to a roll with two large, wooden handles. She waved her wand over the role, and it began to unwind issues of a newspaper called The Bard, which seemed a notch more respectable than The Daily Prophet. When the role stopped, Ptolemy collected all the newspapers it had given her.  
“I shall be close by, if you require assistance,” Pince said, but Ptolemy got the feeling that she was keeping an eye on her and her wand at the ready just in case Ptolemy abused an archived newspaper.   
In the society pages of one edition was a picture of a beaming Lily and James Potter in wedding attire standing in front of Orchard Grange, and the headline read, “Potter Heir Weds”. Ptolemy scanned for mention of Lily and skim read, ‘…the former Miss Evans, 20, a graduate of Hogwarts in the same class as Mr. Potter, is of Muggle origin’ and ‘…the bride looks forward to starting a family.’ Drivel, Lucy decided. They always say a woman is looking forward to starting a family, in these sorts of articles. The next mention of the Potter family was an announcement of Harry’s birth.   
Then, the news took a drastic turn: the next headline read, “Gryffindor Critic of Slytherin Magister Found Dead; Wife and Son Missing.” Ptolemy read about James’s murder, and the search for Lily, in several different articles, but the trail went cold until a newspaper from years later with a picture of an 11 year old Harry , which read, “He Lives: Missing Potter Heir Resurfaces, Starts School”.   
She knew no more about Lily than she had before walking into the library, just, as she and Ginny had listed before, that she was a Muggleborn, went to Hogwarts, and died tragically. What could be the explanation for her uncanny resemblance to Ginny? Ptolemy pondered, but had no answer.

Roger and Ginny didn’t stay a minute longer after Anthea gave them the necklace, but Ginny hated the weight of it in her hands.   
“Conveyance,” she began to cast, as they headed back out into the rain, but before she could name the destination, Roger said,  
“No.”  
“What do you mean, ‘no’?’ Ginny said. “I want to get out of the rain and back up to the castle, to Gryffindor before Hermione comes round for bedchecks.”  
“Oh, woe betide anyone caught out of bed by Miss Granger,” Roger said acidly. “I want to unload this thing before that rich bitch tries something tricky.”  
“Stop! Anthea’s…good,” Ginny said.  
“Good? Spoon fed your dad his porridge while he was dying, did she?” Roger quipped.  
“Well…no, but…” Ginny said, and knew it would mean next to nothing to Roger if she explained how Anthea had dressed her up in her clothes and taken the blame breaking Madam Malfoy’s ice rose perfume. Maybe it meant nothing, in general.  
Roger opened an Egress-he was 17, after all, and was allowed-and said, “Go through. I know a dealer, I don’t need her ‘uncle’s man’.”  
Ginny did as she was told. She was wet, tired, guilty, furious at herself, Roger, and Ron, but also a little spooked to be standing on the property of the woman they had just blackmailed in the dark a moment longer.   
When they emerged through the Egress, they were on a busy street in Londinium. Ginny’s mood changed dramatically as she feasted her eyes on the life of the lamplit street. Though it was night, the street was still crowded, with wizards in Victorian dress, with Faeries, Goblins, Ogres, Trolls, Dwarves, whose skin was every color of the rainbow, who bore nonhuman markings like wings, horns, scales, and feathers.   
An owlfaced lady with platinum hair trailing down her back floated through the crowd in a blue velvet cloak, and Ginny wished she was wearing something so warm and clean. When she looked down, she saw that she was! The Faerie woman had granted her wish.  
Roger frowned at her, as if he didn’t know what to make of her, but just like with the pictures of Lily Potter, he didn’t ask any questions.  
“Are we going to Goblins?” Ginny asked.  
“What’s with you and Goblins? They make nasty bargains and they never give you full price,” Roger said. “No, Leprechauns are far more fair. And with your hair, they’ll probably be quite generous. Are you part Leprechaun?”  
“Not that I know of,” Ginny said.   
“Oh,” he said offhandedly.   
It was the first time he had asked her a personal question since he approached her when she was crying at the mullioned window, and she told him all about her dad’s death. She missed that Roger, plain faced and gauche mannered but attentive, at least. He made her feel important and hopeful. This Roger held her by the wrist and pulled her along so that she nearly tripped over her new Faerie wish cloak dozens of times. They went down an alley lined with the kind of woman Madam Malfoy or another ritzy Pureblood would have called ‘Anonyma’s: painted ladies in tight satin corsets and full skirts, wearing stagey makeup and leering from the shadows. Ginny was afraid of the look they gave her, almost an entreaty to join their trade.   
They finally made it to their destination, a shop with grimy windows. Roger entered, and the bell at the door rang. A customer in a black cloak with the hood drawn up was at the desk, talking to a young man with bright, shoulder length red hair, and pointy facial features, wearing a brocade waistcoat behind the rusty steel cash register.   
“Oh, its been a while, Ghoul. How goes it?” asked the young Leprechaun man.  
“My master bades me dispose of these silver goblets. Have you a use for them?” asked the Ghoul, in a measured and academic voice Ginny knew well.   
“Professor Snape?! What are you doing in a place like this, Sir?” Ginny said, forgetting her composure completely, even jerking free of Roger’s grasp.  
Snape turned around and lowered his hood. The normally unflappable alchemist looked as if he was just as surprised to see her in a Londinium pawn shop. But, his features smoothed out to their usual stoic mask after this brief flare of humanity, and he said only, “Miss Weasley,” in greeting. He noticed Roger and said, with a nod, “Mr. Shepherd.”  
“Hullo, Professor,” Roger said. “are you a private physician, now? You said ‘your master’, just now.”  
“That is my affair and none of yours’, Mr. Shepherd. I am a Master Alchemist of the Third Degree, and you are a schoolboy skiving off to the city for a quick Galleon, a cheap thrill, or both. Don’t think for a moment that you can address me so familiarly because we are outside of the castle,” Snape said, and for a moment life felt normal: she could very well be in Potions, trying to calculate the dittany to yarrow ratio for her potion while Snape told off a less talented classmate.   
Roger looked even more furious than when Sirius had dismissed him. His face was red.  
“Why are you not in school, Miss Weasley?” Snape asked.  
“I…Roger needed…um…I…Sir, have you been keeping well? Since you left school? I…liked your class. A lot,” Ginny sputtered.

Somewhere, stars were born, stars were dying, stars were falling; a glacier was cleaving and shattering, a tiger was striking….none of it mattered, and neither did pawning Regulus’s family heirlooms at his behest. Severus was looking into his daughter’s eyes. He had not been in such close proximity to her since she was recovering from the basilisk bite, but she was so much taller, now…so much older…  
She looked just like Lily. Her hair fell the same way, and was the same color, she was small and thin, her skin was fair with a faint, healthy blush…but her eyes were his own, and his mother’s, dark and round. Did she know? Did she see that she was looking into her own eyes? He remembered the day she was born, remembered the day he left her, remembered the quiet little girl in his classroom…  
“That is…heartening to hear, Miss Weasley,” he said, in answer to her question. “Yes, I am well. But, are you, Ginevra? Do you want to be away from school right now?”   
She looked at Roger Shepherd, and then back to Severus. “Yes, Professor. I’m fine. Really.”  
He wanted to touch her hair, and hold her close. He wanted to call her by her name, Rose Rowan. How he hated Lily, at that moment-why? Why? Why had she taken his Rose away? He would have done anything to protect her, and Harry. Now Harry hated him, and hero worshipped Sirius Black-to Severus’s disgust, he detected imitative tones of Black’s arch, cynical, so-called wit in Harry’s insolent behavior towards his professors, all traces of the sweet, curious, and attentive boy he had adopted in his heart buried beneath it. And Rose was a stranger to him. It was for the best, that way, he knew…but he felt more pain at these truths than even the ruin of his Ghoulish state caused.  
He wished he could bring her to Grimmauld Place with him, as Regulus had done his daughter. But, unlike Regulus, who had used Dora in his attempt to secure the Lapis, he didn’t want anything from Rose…just her safety.  
But, he had to let her go.  
“Very well then. Good evening, Ginevra,” he said, and left the shop. He took the goblet to a goblin dealer. He probably would have gotten a better deal with Leprechauns, but it was more pressing that he leave the shop before he give himself away to Ginevra.  
“Very good, Ghoul. Soon, we will have the funds to quit London,” Regulus said, when he returned to Grimmauld Place.  
“What if your brother has the Black family assets assessed, and the missing heirlooms become conspicuous?” Severus said.  
“You know my brother as well as I: he hates this house. He’s afraid to come back here, lest the ghosts of Mother, Father, and Cordelia assail him, in his troubled mind if not indeed,” Regulus said.  
Content with this, Severus went upstairs to the room that had been Ada’s, and he removed the Pythia from the bedroom closet. He filled it with water, and peered in. In the waters, which showed possible lives, he could just make out the cottage where he had lived in the Vale with Lily. She and Rose, the sun shining in their red hair, picked herbs in the garden, while Severus walked with Harry, his son, his closest companion. He was teaching Harry something, and as always, in this life, Harry was listening closely. They were Healers, they were a family, all was well, in the vision in the waters.

Roger was upset, but more upset than Ginny had ever known him, and she didn’t know what to do. It was all she could do, to hold onto her book satchel and her wand and not trip over her new cloak, as he hurried down the Londinium street. She got the feeling that he was hurrying to punish her, as if she had invited Snape to tell him off, and it was her fault.   
“Here,” he said roughly, as they came to a theater called The Dionysium. Ginny had never heard of it.  
“A theater? We don’t have time for a show, we have to get back to school,” Ginny said.  
Roger smirked, the way he did when he thought she was saying something adorably stupid.   
“Gordie’s a director, here,” Roger said.  
“A journalist, and a theater director?” Ginny said.   
“Yeah, and a poet, and he’s running for the Guild, as soon as he can get up the money,” Roger said.  
Ginny stopped walking. “Is that what this was for?”   
Roger looked at her impatiently, and said, “No! This was for those repairs. You freaked out, lost control, and broke them.”  
“I did not!” Ginny said.  
“Be quiet!” Roger hissed, but she felt like she saw satisfaction in his eyes.   
He wanted her upset! He liked her this way, crazy, something he needed to put down and control. Ginny wished she had told Anthea everything, and stayed for dinner at Buttershaw Hall. They entered the theatre and walked down the red carpeted aisle between the empty seats. Empty balconies engraved with calligraphic swirls and heraldry symbols looked down on them. On the stage, girls dressed as nymphs in gauzy Hellenistic costumes leapt over faux shrubbery in some kind of pastoral scene.  
“Looks like a ‘Chloe and Daphnis’, maybe, or something along those lines,” Ginny said.  
“You like that kind of thing?” Roger asked.  
“They used to have masques and things at Malfoy Manor. We were always invited at Saturnalia, since Mum worked there,” Ginny said. “It was merry-pudding, gingerbread, gifts, and masques.”  
“Charming. Did they feed the worker the leftovers?” Roger said disdainfully.  
“Yes,” she admitted sadly, as they walked backstage. Ginny peered into the dressing rooms, in which costumes were strewn over chairs. They came to a room that was more of a gentlemen’s lounge, antique furniture upon which men lounged and smoked. Though they were all legitimately or devotedly affecting postures of languid boredom, their eyes betrayed that all the young men in the room were waiting for the cue of the man in sitting on the Napoleonic-era antique couch beneath a sport painting of foxhunters, wearing a low cut white linen shirt, militaristically embellished royal blue frock coat, his pants tucked into riding boots. Ginny almost laughed at his apparel, appealing as it did to both the sensibilities of a country gentleman of the Vale and a certain nod to the sea and air captains who travelled back and forth from Londinium to the Faery Countries. The boys gathered around clearly emulated him, but were trying to look as he did: as if he cared for nothing, and was lost in bitter but sublime reflection. He had a gravity about him the way Tom did, like the edge of a forest as darkness falls, enticing you to explore its paths though you are afraid to do so.  
“Gordie,” Roger said.   
“I see you brought a party favor,” Gordie said, and his hangers-on chortled.  
Ginny realized that they were talking about her, and she felt put on the spot, small, weak, and voiceless. Gaslamp light shone on the red silk wallpaper and red velvet furniture. Ginny remembered that the quarters of the heart were called ‘chambers’: this blood red room was like being in the chamber of a heart.  
“Or, perhaps she is a gift for the occasion itself. Something to unwrap,” he said in a lascivious drawl, with a keen light in his eye.   
Was this Gordie, the journalist, the mastermind of Vox? Ginny grasped Roger’s arm, although she knew it wasn’t likely that Roger would protect her against his own brother, in a place where he was obviously admired and had a certain status. Ginny felt worse than she had standing in the rain at Buttershaw Hall.   
“Quit it, Gord-she’s not an Anonyma, we go to school together. Gord, this is Ginny Weasley, my girlfriend. Gin, this is Gordon Manfred, my brother. Go on, shake his hand,” Roger instructed her.  
Ginny obeyed, for want of something to do to make this situation feel normal. Gordon was not plain and tired looking like Roger, he had curly dark hair like a Roman copy of a Greek statue, a strong jaw, and those expressive eyes that seemed full of thoughts and desires, pain and intelligence. Ginny shook his hand, which was large, but his shake was surprisingly gentle. She had a brother and loads of male cousins, she had been on a Quidditch team with boys-she knew how they talked, and she had certainly seen a lot of prostitutes on the way to the Dionysium. She figured Gordon could be forgiven his sort of ‘locker room’ humor.   
“Why is it Manfred, not Shepherd?” She blurted, earning a nervous look from Roger.  
“Because, gentle Miss Weasley, there comes a time in a man’s life when he must kill either himself or his father,” Gordon said. “the development of our minds is planned by nature’s design to reach such crises, and the primitives well know it. They send a young man out into the bush, the jungle or the desert to kill a boar who is the primordial, original Father personified, and in slaughtering the beast, he annihilates his child-self, and it severs his dependence upon his father. Its not so in the Western world-we try to mold a son into his father. So, I took matters into my own hands, and reclaimed my savage origins.”  
“Oh…you changed your name. Right?” Ginny said.  
All the men in the room laughed.  
Gordon stroked her hair, and ran his fingers through it.   
“Such hair, Gentle Ginevra. Are you a Fairchild?” Gordon asked.  
Ginny felt as if her body was turning to salt. She was frozen, and had no choice but to let Gordon touch her.  
“No,” she managed to answer. “My mum’s a witch, my dad was a Squib.”  
“Ginny’s from the Vale. Her parents are tenants,” Roger said.  
“A true rustic beauty, a hedge rose,” Gordon mused. “I should have seen by your ruddy peasant cheeks. You could be a shepherd girl, in a production. Would you like to be on stage?”  
“No,” she said, and added, because he was an adult, “No, sir.”  
Again, the men laughed, and Roger, sensing that she was nervous, caressed her shoulders.  
“Do you think this will be enough?” Roger asked.  
“Yes, it should suffice. Why don’t you and Ginny go take a seat, for the show?” Gordon said. “Don’t worry about the tickets.”  
“We have to go back to school,” Ginny said.  
Roger’s caress of her shoulders became a rough squeeze.   
“Let’s go,” he said.  
They took their seats for the show, and Ginny looked around at the people streaming into the theater. Some were fashionable people wearing velvet cloaks and Carnival masks to enigmatically obscure their identity. Others wore armbands that bore insignia Ginny knew from History and Political Science classes: the mark of the snake, the symbol of those who supported Voldemort. Again, she felt frozen, and with a chill wondered what kind of place the Dionysium theater truly was.


	73. Chapter 73

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While in the Southern U.S., Harry and his friends become embroiled with a Folklore professor's attempt to resurrect an ancient goddess; along the way, Harry saves a mother and daughter and discovers a mystifying ability, while Rob develops a hypothesis about Voldemort's plans. Also, Dora meets another member of her family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am in awe and so grateful to the readers-I began this story as a way to make myself happy while going through a hard time, and I am so happy that so many others enjoy it too. The AU has gotten a little big for its britches, lol, but its a universe that is very fun to write. Stay safe, be healthy, and have fun reading!

After the energy healing lessons, Belwina fortified them with chicken salad sandwiches and bread pudding with vanilla sauce and raisins, and cold lemonade. It was only late afternoon, almost evening, in the pocket of time that Fortune had magically carved for them, and the kids took a ramble along the trails in the forest after their fortifying meal. Hermione and Dora hung back, talking animatedly, and, walking beside Ron under trees whose boughs hung over the trail, its branches graced with vines of tuberous, vividly orange Virginia Creeper. He and his friends walked down wooden steps carved into the red, muddy earth, and emerged at a slow-moving stretch of the river, where the water flowed in riffles around large boulders perfect to rest on. They did so, Ron and Hermione on one boulder, Harry and Dora on another. Dora lay on the boulder, looking up at the sky. Harry lay beside her and reached for her hand. The graze of her shoulder against his sent flares of happiness throughout his whole body. They didn’t need to speak. They merely shared the sky and the music of the river. Harry glanced over at Dora, looked into her eyes, and through the chord they silently shared their souls.  
When they walked back to the mill house, Fortune said, “Pandora, I hear you’re in need of a wand.”  
“Yes, sir. This will be my third,” she said.  
Fortune waved his hand in absolution of this, and said, “Ah, that’s all right. I went through quite a few, then just stopped usin’ ‘em altogether.”  
“You exclusively use magic wandlessly?” Hermione asked, impressed.  
“Don’t worry, you’ll learn next year. There’s great advantages to doing magic wandlessly and nonverbally-gives you the element of surprise,” Fortune said. “So, let’s get you sorted, Dora,” he added, and cast an Egress.  
When they stepped through, they were walking through a broken brick wall. Harry looked around, and saw a detached, red train caboose, and the brick foundations of raised buildings being claimed by an impromptu meadow of weeds. Beyond that was a cobblestone square, dominated by a train station and an octagon shaped building whose purpose he could not readily discern. Further up was a sort of High Street, lined with boutique sized buildings, brick factory buildings converted to loft apartments, pubs and teahouses. It was like a typical English village, but gone slightly to seed.  
“This is Petersburg, Virginia. A little manky, but that’s what happens when the City Council can’t keep their hands out of the treasury. Actually, its got a lot of history. Just up that way is the building where Edgar Allan Poe spent his honeymoon; those scars on the brick walls are from Sherman’s March, in the Civil War; and, Hermione, the founder of Liberia is from here,” Rob said.  
“Fascinating, Professor!” Hermione said, with genuine enthusiasm and warmth, grateful that he had remembered that she was half Liberian.  
They walked a little ways up the cobblestone lanes, taking in the Victorian architecture, until Fortune indicated another detached train caboose in a verdant clearing off the street, that led out to the rusted railroad tracks that had made the city a prime target in the Civil War: the river and the rail lines between Petersburg and Richmond were the veins of the South’s supply chain. Victory had gone to the North, and the southern agricultural economy had never bounced back to the “King Cotton” prosperity that had only been made possible by slave labor, nor had they industrialized like the North-cities like Petersburg had been languidly wilting like rotting magnolias for two centuries, cankered with the defects of inequality, economic stagnancy, and traditions that perpetuated discrimination and discouraged change.  
“What are we looking at, Professor?” Harry asked.  
“Blink,” Rob instructed. Harry blinked, and when he did, he saw not the detached caboose, but a white farmhouse with a wooden, hand painted sign that read in weathered calligraphy, “Sherwood’s Wands”.  
Harry smiled. He loved magic. It still dazzled him, after all this time. He followed Fortune, Dora, Ron, and Hermione into the house, and they entered a room that looked like a tasteful tea house in decoration, except for the shelves and glass display cabinet full of crystals: polished orbs, wands, skulls, rough and uncut geodes the size of pumpkins, their jagged edges sticking this way and that, cathedrals, which were slices of geode shimmering with wrinkled crystal like the walls of a cave, eggs and worry stones, and long mala bead strands and amulets.  
“Wotcher, Rob,” said the young woman behind the counter, who had bubblegum pink hair and a friendly, warm smile, and was wearing an open witch’s robe of patches of velvet in various colors over a Clash t-shirt and ripped jeans.  
“Hiya, Nymphie,” Rob said, and waved his hand demonstratively at Pandora, saying, “Reckon you can fix my student here up with a new wand? She’s growing fast, and just shed her second.”  
“Wow! You must be a Ravenclaw-they learn fast,” said the pink-haired woman.  
Pandora smiled proudly, and said, “Yes, I am! You went to Hogwarts?”  
“‘Course,” Tonks said. “All my family did, on my Mum’s side. They’re proper Purebloods, vault in the City of Temples, celebrate the Roman holidays and worship the Old Gods, and all-the Blacks. My dad’s a Muggleborn.”  
“What?” Pandora said in surprise.  
“Well, its not so uncommon. Plenty of great witches and wizards happen to be-” Nymphie began, but Pandora shook her head frantically, and said,  
“No, no, that’s not what I mean! You said your mother’s family were the Blacks: I’m Pandora Black! Who’s your mother?” she asked.  
Nymphie’s eyes widened, and her shock was obvious. “Andromeda. Her name’s Andromeda. Blimey…Pandora, I know who you are! You’re Regulus’s daughter!”  
Dora nodded fervently. “And I have heard of your mother! Your mother, she ran away from home, and married the man she chose, despite our family’s disapproval, just like my cousin, Anthea!”  
“Heard about that. Can’t imagine Auntie Narcissa was best pleased. She never did forgive my mum for ‘marrying beneath her blood’. I’ve never even met the rest of the family,” Nymphie said.  
“Well, its really just me, Aunt, my cousins Draco, Lucilla, and Anthea, and Uncle Sirius. He is most kind-I live with him, now,” Pandora said.  
“Oh, yeah, he used to come round, before he got thrown into a political prison. He had long hair, and a motorbike,” Nymphie said, smiling appreciatively.  
“Yes, he is quite unchanged by the passage of time,” Pandora said. Nymphie smiled.  
“Well, Pandora, I’m Nymphadora Tonks, and I reckon this is a family reunion!” Nymphadora said, and just as Sirius had done, she hugged Pandora, picked her up a little ways off her feet, and lovingly spun her around. When she was on the ground again, Pandora threw her head back and laughed. Tonks touched Pandora’s wild curls in awe, as if amazed that her cousin was real.  
“I didn’t know we had a customer!” said a young woman with blue hair and piercings, wearing a crop top and skinny jeans, coming from the back.  
“Oy, ‘Reka, guess what? I’ve got long lost family! This is my little cousin Pandora,” Nymphadora said.  
“Nymphadora, Pandora-is it a family tradition, names that end in -dora? Well, that’s marvelous. I’m Eureka Sherwood, Nymphie’s business partner,” said the other young woman. She cast a withering glance at Rob, and added an unenthusiastic, “Hello, Robert.”  
“My ex,” he stage-whispered to Ron and Harry.  
“Do you mind not telling your flock of prep school students our business?” Eureka said.  
“And here I thought we parted amicably,” Fortune said.  
“Hmm…for the sake of our business relationship, let’s say so. Not many magicians get in as much trouble as you, Rob, and I make a healthy bonus every time I clean up after you,” Eureka said.  
“I do wands, ‘Reka tends to do potions. She’s a dead bang alchemist, she is,” Nymphadora explained.  
“You’re an alchemist?” Dora said. “I’d like to be one, too!”  
“Oh yeah? Well, remember one thing: we aren’t searching for a way to turn metals into gold, because gold doesn’t solve everything,” Eureka said, in a tone that indicated she seriously wanted to impress this upon Dora. It reminded Harry of the riddles that allowed one into Ravenclaw’s dormitory, but Dora nodded intently, seeming to understand.  
“She’s in need of a wand-keeps outgrowing them,” Nymphadora said.  
“How old are you, Pandora?” Eureka asked.  
“Seventeen, Ma’am,” Pandora answered.  
“Well, that’s it then- a major life change like coming of age can change the quality of your energy, and you may find yourself parting ways with your wand-amicably, of course,” Eureka said, the last an aside to Fortune, Harry was sure.  
“Test a few stones, we’ll see what you resonate with, and take it from there, all right?” Nymphadora said, and Dora nodded. She was about to pick up a green stone, when they were all distracted by a piercing scream, the scream of a little girl. Everyone present listened into the distance to discern the direction, and then took off running outside the white house.  
Harry jogged over the railroad tracks, and tore into the fragrant evergreen shadows of the pine forest. When he came to the river’s edge, he saw a few tents along the banks, and a group of women standing on the sandy shore, looking alarmed at the water. From the water, Harry heard intense splashing, as if something was struggling. He saw the shadow of something beneath the water, and the foam and bubbles raised by its thrashing. The head and thin, flailing arms of a little girl broke the surface, and she screamed, “HELP ME!!”  
Harry rushed into the water. The rest had caught up with him, and he heard Dora, Hermione, and Ron shouting his name, and Fortune cursing before hitting the water himself with a splash.  
The girl was caught in what Harry thought, at first, was the grip of snake’s thick, shining black body. As he swam to her, however, he felt a swelling wave rush under him and knock him in the belly, as the creature rose to full height. The girl was not gripped by a serpent’s body…but by a reptilian monster’s tentacle. Seven more of them writhed and lashed from the body of a creature with dry looking scales and ruby red eyes. When he had faced the Basilisk, the Sword of Gryffindor had offered itself to him…in a moment of dire need…he felt around in the water, wondering if that trick would repeat itself. He felt only water, slipping through his hands like time. He had his wand, he consoled himself. He shot every fire spell he knew, but the creature’s scaly skin was tough, and not affected by them.  
‘Let me sleep!’ It said, anguished.  
“Sleep?” Harry said. He saw Fortune look at him, as if figuring out what was going on, that Harry was talking to the creature. He gave Dora, Ron, and Hermione a halting look, advising them to stay back, if they were thinking of joining them in the river.  
“They woke me, with their butchered litanies, and coarse songs, their American prayers, like children at play,’ the reptile raged, and then emitted a scream of pure frustrated distress that rang through Harry painfully. He gathered that they meant the women on the shore, who were all dressed something like Rob’s (other) ex, Belwina, in gauzy maxi dresses and broom skirts with long hair like flower children, very Glastonbury.  
“Let the little girl go, and we’ll help you go to sleep!” Harry lied hastily.  
He felt hope like a door turning once the right key was inserted coming from the reptilian monster’s end of their communication, and then seconds of fever pitched suspense as he looked at the brown haired little girl flailing in the tentacles grip. The creature whipped its tentacle away, loosened its grip, and the girl hit the water with a splash. Harry felt the same thrill of victory he did when he caught the Snitch at Quidditch, and wasted no time in swimming to the little girl. He took her hand, and together they caught the afternoon tide and let it help them to the river’s edge, kind of like boogie boarding without the boards. Meanwhile, Fortune had begun a litany in flowing, musical Latin, and as he chanted, a golden circle of runic symbols swirled around the creature. They faded like fireworks, and the creature dove under the river, swimming upstream. Rob, his expensive dress pants and shirt, silk tie, and fitted khaki trench coat soaked, joined Harry and the little girl on the muddy banks of the river.  
“Where’s it going?” Harry asked.  
“Well, if I pronounced all that Latin correctly, back to its dimension. Hope I did Professor Hartnell proud,” Rob said. “That was Tiamat-a Primordial. That’s a most ancient demonic being. Some of ‘em, her included, used to be worshipped as gods.”  
“How’d she get to America?” Harry asked.  
Rob looked to the women on the shore. One of the women ran furiously towards them, crying hysterically. Her hair was wavy and red, her skin fair, her eyes green. Harry looked at her and saw his mother, and for a surreal second he was as sure as he lived that it was her, Lily Potter, she had not died, she had been lost in America all this time, here she was, he had found her…  
“Mommy!!!” the girl sobbed, and her mother gathered her into her arms.  
Harry looked closely at the woman, and the spell was broken. Of course she was not Lily-her eyes, which were pouring desperate tears, were actually blue, not green, her nose and mouth were not Lily’s, and she was too young to be her. She held and rocked her daughter fiercely, and said her name, “Ariel,” again and again.  
Harry’s friends rushed to him. Dora quickly rushed to him.  
“Ma’am, I know you must still be half out of your mind from worry, but I have to ask you a few questions,” Rob said.  
Harry heard the slam of a car door, and saw a man and a woman getting out of a shiny, black Lincoln. The man had close cut hair, a thick but handsome face, and the build of a Rugby player. The woman was blonde and busty with strong shoulders, a determined stride, and serious expression, gorgeous but formidable, like a Valkyrie. The man wore a white dress shirt, black tie, black pants and nice shoes, the Valkyrie wore a slender fitting pants suit and a white tee shirt underneath. They looked like FBI agents from a movie Harry might have clandestinely watched on the Dursleys’ basement TV.  
“Fortune. I might have known,” said the Valkyrie, addressing Robbie.  
Robbie looked self deprecatingly exasperated, and sighed. “Well, its old home week for me, innit? Kids, this is Agent Willoughby, my bete noire” -the Valkyrie-“and Agent Blake my…ex.”  
The burly Rugby player waved his fingers in a wave, and smiled bemusedly.  
“Who isn’t your ex in this country?” Ron said. “Is that what they call ‘doing America’?”  
“We detected a Demonic presence here, Fortune-care to explain why you raised a Grade 5 demonic entity in the Appomattox River in the middle of the day, with a gaggle of witnesses, some of them underage? What, did you raid Xavier’s School For Gifted Youngsters?” Agent Willoughby said, sweeping an eye over Harry, Pandora, Hermione, and Ron.  
“No!! He saved Ariel! He saved my baby! We raised the Goddess, not him!” Ariel’s mother cried plaintively.  
“’S’all right now, love. What’s your name, then?” Agent Blake crooned tenderly, in what Harry was surprised to recognize was a London accent.  
“Marcy,” Ariel’s mother sobbed, giving her name, “He saved Ariel! Him, and that boy, with the black hair,” she said, and pointed at Harry.  
“No…I…don’t even know what I did,” Harry said.  
“Well, good thing we witnessed the whole thing, then!” Dora said haughtily, and turned to Agents Blake and Willoughby. “We heard a scream while we were in the wand shop, and rushed to the river. Harry, without a thought to his personal safety, jumped into the water from whence we’d heard the scream, and found this little girl in the grip of a monster! He distracted it, and then Professor Fortune performed a Litany and drove it back to the demonic nether realms. If you’re going to blame someone of demonic summoning, it wouldn’t be Professor Fortune, because he actually drove it away.”  
Harry looked at her in awe. Professor Willoughby was obviously some kind of government official, didn’t seem disposed towards their Professor, and had a steely grace that brought to mind the fight scenes and car chases of high-octane action films. One could easily see her replacing Charlize Theron or Scarlett Johansson in such a film without breaking a sweat, and Dora had faced her and stood her ground. Harry felt a dizzy smile playing at her lips.  
“Rob, what happened here, mate?” Agent Blake said.  
“They don’t know all of it!” Marcy shrieked.  
“No, Marcy! Don’t tell those interlopers anything. The Professor will come back,” said a woman in a crochet sweater and orange broom skirt, stepping forward to Marcy.  
“She’s not coming back! She left us to deal with that…monster! She was supposed to be a Goddess!” Marcy said.  
“Mommy, can we go?” Ariel whined. “I’m cold.”  
“The Professor will come back,” the orange skirted woman asserted firmly, looking at Marcy as if she was utterly contemptible.  
There was doubt in Marcy’s eyes. Black vans arrived, and more agents. Ron and Hermione were looking around at the scene. As Agent Willoughby went to confer with the other agents, Hermione asked Agent Blake,  
“So, what kind of agents are you?”  
“We work for a branch of the government that regulates supernatural phenomena: making sure dangerous situations get sorted before they get out of control,” he answered reasonably.  
The women along the shore were, to Harry’s alarm, being walked to the vans.  
“Where are they going? Where are they taking them? What’s happening?” Harry asked.  
“Just questioning. They’ve clearly been dabbling in magic. A lot of Muggles do out here, far more than back home,” he said. “I see you go to Hogwarts.”  
“Did you?” Harry asked.  
“Nah. Not a wizard, mate, I’m a werewolf. M’daughter, though, she goes. Know a girl called Seraphina Blake?” he asked.  
“Um…Hufflepuff, 7th year?” Harry asked.  
Agent Blake nodded proudly. Harry had only the vaguest impression of a tall, pretty, dark haired girl in his memory.  
“Don’t see enough of her, me out here, her out there, but it’s a good education for a witch, the system at Hogwarts, and as for me…well, no one’d ever let me wear a badge in Britain, know what I mean?” Agent Blake said.  
Harry nodded gravely. His foster father hid his lycanthropy from the village, but he’d had no choice but to register with the Ministry, and he did not have the same rights as a Wizard. They lived daily with the fear that, even though Sirius was in the government now, Remus would be sent to a detainment camp as so many lycanthropes arbitrarily were.  
When the women were all gone, their tents looked forlorn.  
“Marcy, we want to talk to you a bit more, but we need to move and let Ecto-CSI sweep the area,” Agent Willoughby reported, striding back over to them as the vans departed.  
“Ecto-CSI?” Hermione asked.  
“Ectoplasmic Crime Scene Investigation,” Rob said. “They look for traces of magical energy, and even recreate events, using remnant energy: the energetic memory of the crime.”  
Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged looks of awe.  
“Do Aurors use that, too?” Harry asked.  
“Doubt they’d get far if they didn’t,” Agent Willoughby said. “Are you interested in magical law enforcement, kids?”  
Harry nodded vehemently.  
This inspired the first smile they’d seen grace Willoughby’s face. “Well, it looks like you did good today-not too many people would have the guts to distract a Primordial. Let’s head up to the Blue Willow Tea House, have a hot drink and get some answers.”  
She put a consoling arm around Marcy, and Harry felt relieved. They began to walk up the street, and Harry felt relieved. He realized he had been worried, in the pit of his stomach, for the mother and daughter.  
“Ah, Agent Willoughby? Might I suggest a cozier place, for Marcy and Ariel? Something tells me they’ll need protection,” Fortune said.  
She raised an ash blonde eyebrow, and said, “And you don’t think the Agency can provide that?”  
“You give us a reckon, love-d’you think this Professor’s done with ya? D’you think she can find ya?” Fortune asked Marcy.  
She shivered with fright and held Ariel close. Harry felt protective of them, and almost angry with Fortune for reminding her of whatever she was afraid of.  
“Your place, then?” Blake asked.  
“Always room for one more at the mill,” Fortune said, smiling victoriously.  
“Robbie? What’s happened here?” asked Nymphadora, walking towards them.  
“This is a crime scene! How’d you get past the agents blocking off the area?” Willoughby demanded.  
“Told them my baby cousin was down here. That’s her, right there. Pandora, you lot all right?” Nymphadora said.  
“We’re fine, Nymphadora. There was some kind of creature in the water, but Harry and the Professor banished it,” Dora said proudly. Harry caught her eye…he was still very confused and worried, but he was glad he had Dora’s admiration.  
“We’ll discuss that a bit more at the mill,” Fortune said, opened an Egress, and said, “Ladies first, Agent Willoughby.”  
She rolled her eyes, but accepted his offer, and gracefully walked through the Egress. Blake, Fortune, Nymphadora, and the kids followed, and returned to the mill.  
They headed inside, and Marcy and Ariel sat on the couch.  
“Don’t touch anything, baby,” Marcy said to Ariel, and to Fortune, “Do you have any blankets?”  
“Do you one better, love,” Fortune said, and cast, “Thermos,” on Ariel. Her hair and clothes were dry. Marcy smiled with redolent gratitude at him, looking like a Renaissance Madonna. Fortune smiled back, and handed her several woven Mexican blankets.  
Harry had an insane wish: that Marcy and Ariel were his mother and Rosie, that a kind and knowledgeable wizard had found and rescued them, as Fortune had rescued these two.  
“Thank you, Mr…Fortune?” Marcy said, unsure. “So, you do magic? I mean, real magic?”  
“I’m a wizard, a necromancer, and an exorcist-that’s real enough for me. Too real, sometimes,” he said.  
Marcy smiled. “I think I know what you mean,” she said, cradling and rocking Ariel, who was falling asleep. Excitement, Harry remembered from the young ones at the orphanage, tires kids out quickly.  
“Last name?” Willoughby asked.  
“Willow. Marcy Willow,” Marcy said. “I’m a grad student. I’m working on my Master’s in Folklore, with a concentration on Goddess Lore. I wrote my baccalaureate thesis on Diane Wolkstein’s translations of The Myth of Inanna. Do you know it?” she asked, addressing Fortune.  
“ ‘From the Great Above, the Goddess Inanna turned her thoughts to the Great Below’,” Fortune recited.  
“Yes! Wow, it sounds lovely in your accent. Like Robert Burns, or an old ballad. Where are you from, Scotland?” Marcy asked.  
“Yorkshire, little town called Cokeworth. Nasty town, love-mining town, dirty old town. You?” he asked.  
“West Virginia. Lots of dirty old mining towns up there, too, trust me…thank God that Dominion Energy cancelled that God-awful pipeline project, but they already cleared so much of that beautiful old Appalachian forest, and poisoned the rivers,” Marcy said.  
“Shame,” Willoughby said. “So, you were studying Goddess centric folklore? At that school up the hill, there, overlooking the river?”  
“That’s Virginia State University; I was studying at George Mason,” Marcy said.  
“That’s quite a long ways off,” Blake said.  
“Yeah, well…I left when my advisor did, Dr. Clea Dane. Professor Dane founded our community,” Marcy said.  
“Community?” Blake asked.  
“You girls were sleeping rough out there on the banks of the Appomattox?” Rob asked, in disbelief.  
“Clea has an old farmhouse on the Matoaca side. We live there, but, in the woods…is where we sometimes do energy raising practices. Last night was a New Moon, which is actually a very regenerative time. So, we decided to attempt the Awakening,” Marcy said.  
“Is that a ritual?” Blake asked.  
“The New Moon has been castigated as a time of black sabbaths, and women who are practicing the spiritual alchemy of self-knowledge and self-care have been castigated as witches. The New Moon is a time of direst potential-when a woman is internally full, like the moon is externally full on new moon nights. We were at our most heightened and potent, energetically,” Marcy said.  
“Love, you can’t think magic is something you just pick up and start practicing out of the blue one day, like one of them ‘how to make sushi’ kits at a store in the mall,” Robbie said.  
“Magic is the act of changing your consciousness at will,” Marcy said. “Just because I can’t dry wet clothes with my hands doesn’t mean I can’t tap into the creative potential of the universe within myself.”  
Rob sighed. “Sure. I’m not saying it ain’t magical to heal an old wound, to go after your dreams, achieve your goals, make a change in your life. But, the craft of magic takes sacrifice. You can’t expect only the good stuff. It takes from you. Wizards, we learn that step by step in our schooling. When a Muggle picks it up…if you aren’t led the right way, it can be exponentially more painful for you,” he said.  
“A…Muggle?” Marcy said, looking around at Blake, Willoughby, Nymphadora, and the kids for an explanation.  
“Just means human. Like, vanilla, no jimmies and sprinkles, plain ‘ol human,” Willoughby said.  
“And…you all aren’t?” Marcy said.  
No one answered.  
“So, the Awakening?” Willoughby asked.  
“Dr. Dane is a genius. She’s been on several academic fact finding trips to antiquities museums in the Middle East, meeting with Sumerologists-people who study Sumerian-and translating the hymns of Inanna in their earliest recorded form. When a terrorist group who sacks museums to destroy the record of Mesopotamian culture in the Middle East threatened a statue of Inanna, she had it smuggled for safekeeping to George Mason…but, the college authorities weren’t happy about it…it wasn’t strictly legal…no one wanted the statue, or her. She put her heart and soul into her work, she stood up for what she believed in and worked for, and everyone who had benefitted from her work abandoned her. But, we believed in her…her graduate students. We dropped out of the Folklore program and moved out here with her…and the statue. We immersed ourselves in anthropologically recreating the worship of Inanna, and we made a space for the statue. Then…things changed. I think Professor Dane is ill,” Marcy said.  
“Why do you say that?” Fortune asked.  
“She won’t leave the farmhouse in Matoaca…but Lorna, the one in the orange…she claims to be speaking for her, giving us orders about how to perform rituals, and wake Inanna up,” Marcy said. “No one wants to betray the Professor, we came all this way because we believe in her, more than the college…but, what if it’s all Lorna? That’s what I think, that she’s taken the reins…but, its gotten to the point where if you disagree with her, you’re the enemy. My mother always said, ‘The squeaky wheel stands out’. And no one dares even to squeak.”  
“What happened at the river?” Blake asked.  
“We did the ritual the way Lorna suggested…well, ordered us to…and it shattered. We were horrified….and then, it came out of the water….what went wrong?” Marcy said, crying again.  
“You got the wrong goddess, that’s what. That wasn’t Inanna-it was Tiamat, the Babylonian dragon goddess. The museum, Dr. Dane, Lorna, someone misattributed it, and you ladies have been singing praises to the wrong idol. That’s what I meant before-when you just take up magic like crochet or a second language, you miss out on details, nuance, and go into battle with the wrong weapons,” Fortune said.  
“We’re trying to take back our power! The women who’ve been called witches…they’re priestesses, healers, they had power and a voice in their communities…we’re trying to get back to that!” Marcy said.  
“Us witches aren’t so different from you. Well, we might have different lives in some ways, but we still feel love, joy, sadness, pain, all the human bits. Glorifying us as better than you is only leaving out how much you can do, and are capable of. And anyway, the past is no place to craft your future,” Nymphadora said sympathetically.  
Marcy nodded, tears falling. “When she grabbed Ariel…none of it mattered anymore. All the things I thought hurt so badly, that I had to heal from. This was real pain, and the terror…I was more alive than I had ever wanted to be, more myself than I had ever been. All the shattered sides came together. I don’t know how I know it, but I know that I’m a better mother, now,” she said.  
Harry blurted, “You’re very brave.” He couldn’t help it-she reminded him so much of his mother.  
“Me? You actually talked to that thing, and got it to let Ariel go! How did you do it?” Marcy asked.  
“That’s something I’ll have to explain to you, Harry,” Fortune said. “and I think I’ve put some other things together, besides.”  
“About me?” Harry asked. Hermione, Dora, and Ron looked at Fortune with gravely scrutinizing faces. He nodded.  
“And Voldemort,” Fortune added. “I think I know what he wants out of you, Harry.”


	74. Chapter 74

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius and Dumbledore discuss what to do with Draco's intel; Robbie tells Harry about his abilities and Voldemort's intentions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Scenes of implied child abuse in a flashback to Robert's and Severus's childhood. It sheds some light on why Robert is trying to stop Harry from killing Snape...
> 
> Thank you again to everyone reading The Alchemist's Daughter! I am so proud and grateful! Be safe, be well, and have fun reading the new chapter.

Sirius sat in the chair on the other side of Dumbledore’s desk. Behind the Headmaster’s chair was a view of the dark mountains behind the village, that cradled it and the school of magic in its protective embrace.  
“These attacks weaken our protections,” Dumbledore admitted sadly.   
“That’s impossible!” Sirius said. “The charms on this place are older than Merlin. And with you as Mayor of the Castle…”  
Dumbledore looked at Sirius in teasing dare, to finish that sentence, but his former pupil knew just how much the elder wizard hated blind and wild supposition about what could not be done.   
“Assume that anything is possible, and act accordingly, Mr. Black,” Dumbledore said, gently, but still as if Sirius was a schoolboy.   
“What will you do?” Sirius asked.  
“A great many things-I hope that at least a few of them will be successful,” Dumbledore said. “I am hoping that Orchard Grange can play a role in that.”  
“That would be down to Harry, the place is his,” Sirius said.  
“Then it would be for him to renew the compact between the Potter family, Fauna and Faunus, and ask that it extend to Hogwarts and Hogsmeade,” Dumbledore said.  
Sirius nodded. Harry was a caring boy, who never hesitated to protect others. He had agreed without hesitation to allow the Bear Hunter pack the use of the greenwood, Sirius was sure that he would not be averse to whatever Dumbledore had in mind, if it was for the good of Hogwarts.   
“Sir, the reason I asked for an audience with you today is, I received some intelligence from Draco, and I wanted to run it by you before I passed it along to the Auror Department,” Sirius said.  
Dumbledore didn’t confirm this as prudent, or raise objection, but nodded for Sirius to continue. Sirius reported the contents of Draco’s letter, that girls were being held at Malfoy Manor.  
“You and I both know that lot have a load of twisted beliefs about harnessing feminine magical energy from women, using that energy. That’s what he kept Hugin and Munin around for, and my wife, Bella, come to that…and why he’s behind who his followers marry, and why he set them to raping Muggle women on certain auspicious days. These girls must be for some purpose like that,” Sirius said.  
“Yes, but the investigators at the Guild would reason that past behavior is an indicator of future crimes, only the most circumstantial evidence of them,” Dumbledore said. “and, as for Draco’s word, it is the word of a spy, working for an organization that, to the Guild’s knowledge, does not exist.”  
“I think I understand-you still believe that the Guild will be infiltrated or fall. You don’t want to expose us by passing this one along. Well, I made not a few enemies arguing for the investigation of Riddle’s whereabouts to be opened,” Sirius said.  
“And you are the sort of man who loses sleep over the acquisition of new enemies?” Dumbledore said, looking at his former student with a bemusedly raised silver eyebrow.  
Sirius laughed.   
“So, you honestly think the Order can subtly pull off infiltrating the Manor and liberating the girls without the help of Aurors? The girls, and their story, will be proof enough that Voldemort’s back, and the men holed up in that manor are Death Eaters. If we put this one on the books, it will accelerate things, but in our favor…” Sirius said.  
“We are not seeking publicity or legitimacy. We’re seeking to preserve human life. The girls will not be pawns, marched before the eyes of the world as symbols of what we stand for, or what the Dark forces we fight against are capable of. It is not time for that,” Dumbledore said.  
“How’ll we get in?” Sirius asked.  
“One guide through Hell sufficed for Dante,” Dumbledore said.   
“So, then, Draco shall be our Virgil?” Sirius asked.  
“Precisely. Write your cousin to persuade his Master that the ritual, whatever it may be, involving the stolen girls will be more efficacious if it takes place in Hogsmeade, at the Tarletons’, surrounded by old magic. We, the Order of the Phoenix, will liberate the girls,” Dumbledore said.  
“I’ll write to him,” Sirius agreed. 

Natalie emerged from one of the rooms of what Harry suspected was an interdimensional labyrinth within the mill house-it was like Doctor Who’s TARDIS, bigger on the inside. She had a Victorian looking dollhouse for Ariel and began playing with her on the floor. Marcy looked on with gratitude. She was completely attuned to her daughter, as fixed on her as a moon was the planet it orbited around. Harry glanced at them and wondered if his mother had watched him and Rose play, like that, her focus so totally on her two children…  
He turned back to Fortune, and said, “What is it you think you know?”  
“Tell me about what happened in the Forbidden Forest in your second year at Hogwarts,” Fortune said.  
“But, Volde-” Harry interrupted, but Fortune said firmly,  
“It matters. Tell me. I know a bit, already, from your Mum,” Rob said.  
Harry felt as if he had been mildly shocked with electricity, at the knowledge that his mother watched over him, and knew all the things he had been through.   
“Well, there was a monster loose, in the school…I could hear it thinking…it escaped into the Fens on the edge of the forest. These girls had lured Ginny, Ron’s sister, out there, and even though the school was locked down, I knew I had to go find her. Me, and Ron went. I figured out which way to go because of the snake’s…thoughts. I could feel it watching Ginny die, waiting for the venom to kill her, for her to be ready to eat. I didn’t know how to get her free, but there was this sword in the water. Professor, was that my mum? Did she do that, get the sword in the water, somehow?” Harry said, with wild hope.  
“One thing at a time, mate,” Rob said evasively. “When you got to the Fens, did you speak to the basilisk the way you did the primordial, today?”  
“He spoke to it. He did! Just stuff like ‘Leave Ginny alone’, ‘Let her go’, and of course it kept fighting him, but it could understand him! It knew it was being told off,” Ron said, remembering, with a look of awe on his face as an old event took on new dimensions.  
“It didn’t listen to your commands because it was enchanted by another wizard: Riddle. He wanted the castle. That was his first attempt to take over the castle as his own fortress, by getting the school closed upon the death of a child. But, you slew his monster, and Sev concocted the cure for the venom that saved Ginny-Riddle was foiled on both scores,” Fortune said.  
“But, that was years ago. I was a kid. What does that have to do with what he wants out of me now?” Harry demanded.  
“All right, we’re getting there,” Fortune said. “Trust me. So, a few months back, Voldemort possessed Ginny. Didn’t she say something to you about serpents and dragons?”  
“That they were the same,” Harry said. “What does it mean?”  
“Harry, what you were told was Parseltongue, your ability to talk to snakes, is a broader range of abilities. You can speak to creatures others would call monsters, devils. Serpents, dragons, creatures that, like you, share the blood of the water faery Melusina. That’s called Dragon Sense,” Fortune said.  
“Dragon Sense?” Harry said.  
Fortune nodded.  
“That’s what allowed the Dragon Riders to ride dragons into battle in the wars-like your grandfather, Harry! Not just anyone could be a Dragon Rider, you had to have the natural ability to speak to them, or be able to withstand the magic to acquire it,” Hermione said.  
“Dumbledore! He rode a dragon, today, to corral the creatures back into the menagerie! He can do it, too!” Harry said.  
“Of course! He was one of the very few of a group of volunteers during the War of 1816 to survive the magical ceremony that makes a Dragon Rider. Perhaps being an Alchemist already made his DNA rather…transmutable. In any case, it was a bloody war-the population of wizards has never truly recovered. 1/3 of all young men of our kind died. Just think, if they had lived, had families…” Hermione said, sadly.  
Ron and Harry shared a look…what if they had lived then, when going to war was the only honorable course of action for an able-bodied young man? Would Harry have been kissing Dora goodbye in a candlelit ballroom, and then dashing off in a red coat to mount a dragon and fight, like some kind of wizard twist on the Napoleonic wars? He looked at Dora, and felt the weight of that goodbye as truly as if it were happening to them now.  
“So, not just anybody can ride a dragon? What about those dragons that pull Blaise Zabini’s carriage? Someone must have tamed them, the way they do horses,” Harry said.  
“Those are dragonettes. Much like a basilisk, the dragon’s egg is charmed before it hatches. So, they are born dwarfed, and charmed to be easier to control,” Pandora put in.  
“That’s right. The Swains at Sissinghurst Hall have got some, remember those scratches I had when I helped out over there, Pet?” Ron said.   
Pandora nodded heartily. “Yes, but that balm your mother made greatly reduced the severity of the scarring,” she said.   
“Oh, yeah? If you two can remember what’s in it, could ya write it down?” Fortune said.   
Dora and Ron agreed-this must have to do with the project he was working on: his friend with the skin condition.   
“Not that skin care isn’t a fascinating branch of magic, but….Voldemort?” Nymphadora, sitting astride the arm of the couch, said.  
“That’s right, Nymphie-whip me back on task, love,” Robbie said. “So, in short, yes, Harry, only a wizard with Dragon Sense could command a dragon who hasn’t been tampered with to be docile. You have it, and Voldemort must want it. Family traits don’t distribute themselves equally-guess Dragon Sense skipped a generation of Melusina’s descendants, skipped right over Riddle.”  
“But, the Basilisk….?” Harry asked.  
“Its like the dragonettes-it was enchanted before hatching. Once you arrived on the scene, you kept commanding it to leave Ginny alone. Maybe it did obey, Ron, don’t you see? It kept attacking Harry, it had forgotten all about eating Ginny! Harry, you seized control of Voldemort’s basilisk from him!” Hermione deduced excitedly.  
“He wants to steal that gift from you,” Fortune said. “If he can turn you Dark, with Sev’s murder, your energy will be more resonant to his, you’ll be easier for him to lure where he wants ya, get the jump on ya, and perform whatever ritual he’s planning to take your Dragon Sense. He utilizes Dark Creatures like werewolves, and Dark Magic like demon summoning and astral attack, but if Voldemort could command dragons…? The covens would never see it coming, or have a way to stop ‘im. There’s been no dragon riders or dragon cavalry since WWI.”  
“What do we do?” Harry asked.  
“Looks like we need to find you a dragon, mate. Nasty shock for Ol’ Voldie, innit, if you already had one all trained up, waiting for him, ready to blast?” Ron said. “And whatever ceremony Dumbledore went through to have Dragon Sense, just do me, too.”  
Harry appreciated Ron’s loyalty, but he frowned as a thought occurred to him.  
“So, why doesn’t Riddle do that? Just go through the ritual Dumbledore did?” Harry asked.  
“Maybe he has, and it didn’t work,” Hermione said.  
“What could stop it from working properly?” Pandora asked.  
Fortune scratched his head in thought. “Well, it’s a ceremony for wizards, so being half nonhuman would get in the way…being Muggle or half Muggle makes the likelihood that you’ll die horribly higher than not…having an Ill Wish on ya…”  
“A blood curse!” Harry said, remembering what Dora said about Draco.  
Fortune smiled, impressed. “That’s right! And those can be inherited, just like magical gifts. Maybe Voldemort’s line of descent has a curse that would get in the way of the ritual.”  
“Why doesn’t he just find a bunch of young wizards, put the lot of them through the ritual, see who survives, and make a Dragon Cavalry out of that lot? While he’s at it, he can put them under the Imperius Curse, to make sure they do as they’re told,” Harry said. “Why’s it gotta be him who rides the dragon?”  
When he was done talking, he looked around and saw that Ron and Hermione were looking at him in more than mild shock. Dora, who, by virtue of growing up amongst the Malfoys, was quite well used to Dark Magic and blessedly hard to shock on that subject, merely had one rust brown eyebrow raised in interest over one of her grey eyes, as if to say, ‘There’s an idea, go on then.’  
“Voldemort picked the wrong Chosen One, eh?” Nymphie said. “Way to think like a Dark Lord.”  
“I wouldn’t do anything like that! But, I mean, if I was Voldemort, I guess I would…” Harry said.  
Hermione needlessly cleared her throat, and said, “Yes, but you’re forgetting what Natalie told us about Dark Wizards.”  
At this, Natalie looked over from Ariel and the Doll House, and rejoined them to listen in on the discussion.  
“They’re egomaniacs, narcissists,” Hermione said. “They have a few cherished atrocities they have been planning for a long time, and delusions of themselves as heroes for the ages. Sure, they commit all sorts of sloppy and chaotic crimes for gain and self-preservation, but they are also obsessive on a few characteristic points, usually their ambitions, prejudices, and perversions. They generally fear death, which will extinguish that which they most love, themselves, but contradictorily have a preoccupation with legacy and leaving a defining mark on the world, stamping it with their ideology and achievements, such as they are. To that end, they will want to be-or be seen and remembered to be-hands on in a particularly dramatic fashion in a high-profile moment. Long story short, defeating his greatest enemies, you and Dumbledore, Harry, and enslaving the Wizarding World with dragons would be pretty damn memorable.”  
“That’s why he doesn’t just make a dragon army? Because he wants the glory of being a Dragon Rider? How bloody pathetic,” Harry said.  
“We’ve got to protect your mind from Voldemort’s whispers to kill. On top of the energy shields, we're going to work on that charm I told you about, Compassio Sensus,” Rob said.  
“What’s it do?” Harry asked.  
Before the Professor could answer, Hermione said, “When you cast it upon someone, it allows you to see life in their shoes.”  
Harry looked at her. He wasn’t expecting that. Fortune had told him to cast it on Snape if ever they ran into each other, before striking to avenge Rosie and his mother with a more lethal bit of magic. He had imagined it was some kind of binding spell that would incapacitate Snape nonfatally, but that was not the case.  
“You want me to feel sorry for him?!” Harry snapped. “I don’t care, Professor, that he’s your old friend. He was my mum’s friend, too, and he led a pack of Death Eaters to her front door! She’s dead! My sister’s probably dead! She was just a baby! And Dora…he…”  
“I can speak for myself, Harry. Look, I am certainly no fan of Severus’s-he fed my Aunt opium and drugged me, too, after colluding with my father to kidnap me. But, Professor Dumbledore told me that for all of Severus’s misdeeds, he’s never taken a life. The same can’t be said of Voldemort. He’s killed hundreds of Muggles just this month, and I hate to sound like Shepherd’s Political Science club, but all the witches and wizards who think life is going on as normal even though he’s back are living in an air castle. He’ll come for the Muggleborns, for the people considered blood traitors, for the non-humans. Its started, with the Goblin Market. How soon before it’s werewolves, or warlocks?” Pandora said. “I don’t know what happened in Washington when you were a baby…but, if getting a handle on it is the key to defeating a wizard like that, isn’t it worth it? Not for Severus’s sake…for the worlds’.”  
Harry looked into her grey eyes, and found renewed strength there. Dora understood…she, too, had grown up without her parents, and knew the anguish and fury beneath the normalized loneliness of it. She would never tell him to just let it go that Snape had betrayed his mother to her death…but, she knew that it tortured him, and he felt how much she wanted his pain to end. He vowed never to make Dora beg for anything.   
“How does it work, Compassio Sensus?” Harry asked.  
“I’ll be glad to show you,” Rob said, sounding proud and relieved.  
“Compassio Sensus,” he cast, and with a wave of his wand the scene changed. Harry was not in the sitting room of the mill in Virginia but running. He was running through the blandly dingy halls and rooms of a house whose windows gave a view of a sky crowded with low-hanging, black bellied clouds.  
“GET OUT OF THE WAY, BRANWEN! LET ME AT ‘IM! LET ME KILL ‘IM!!!!!!” raged a heavy-set man whose face was currently as red as rare steak, veins in his neck swelling to prominence, as he stomped through his house with a hammer, like Bill Sykes in an ill-fitting golf shirt.  
A blonde girl in a Day-Glo pink jersey minidress and acid wash denim jacket pulled on his muscular but softening arm, and Harry feared that the man would swing in shaking her off and fling her into the stove, fridge, or kitchen wall.  
“WHERE IS THAT LYING LITTLE…?!” the man raged and knocked over the table in a rage fueled attempt at searching for the little boy.  
Harry knew it was a little boy he was looking for, because he was the little boy. He was hiding in the cupboard under the sink. The leaky pipes were dripping fetid water on his face, but he didn’t care.  
“Daddy, he doesn’t understand! He’s just…a sad little boy, playing a game. He wants to talk to Mummy, he never knew her,” Branwen sobbed.  
“What’s he got to be sad for?! He didn’t know her! He killed her! That little bastard killed my wife!” Branwen’s father raged. From behind the cupboard, Harry could hear her sobs.  
“Daddy, he’s not in the house anymore, he’s ran out…” Branwen said, and her father only grunted in response to this.   
The room sounded empty after a while. Branwen seemed to be her father’s favorite, however far that went with such a man-she had been able to sway him to stop the search for Harry. Harry felt shaken, but he had a lengthy memory file of such incidents and knew how to sort his feelings afterwards. He knew he would feel better if he got out of the house, and he knew where he was going.  
Gingerly, he opened the cabinet door, and got out from under the sink. He climbed the kitchen counter, and opened the window, and climbed out. Two men, just as out of shape and unpleasant looking as his father, were walking down the driveway with lascivious hunger and expectation on their faces.  
“Oy, lad, Branwen home, then?” one of them asked.  
“Sod off, nunce!” Harry cried, with more conviction in his own ability to escape an ass-beating than he had ever felt in his life.   
“LITTLE SHIT!” one of the punters cried, and made for Harry with a waving fist, but he ran like a bullet until he had left behind the cheap white houses on the street where he lived, down an older, grimmer street of weathered brick houses on a row facing the river.   
Feeling out of breath, he knocked like mad on the door of one of the houses.  
A harried looking woman in a faded dress and apron opened, and let him in.   
“Robert, what’s the matter? I’d think the Devil himself were chasing you!” the woman demanded with a species of gruff caring that reminded Harry of McGonagall.  
“’E is, Ma’am! Its me dad, and then them punters come round and drink at our house, but they ain’t here, now-just thought I should keep runnin’,” Harry told her.  
She shook her head. “If my husband was home… Robert, you know how he is. Don’t get in the habit of knocking like that.”  
Harry nodded his head up and down, feeling a deep fondness for this woman, and conviction that her bark was worse than her bite.  
“What’s it today, then? Draught of Living Death, Polyjuice Potion? Lily’s keen to try Felix Felicis,” the woman said.   
“Whatever Sev wants. Where is ‘e?” Harry asked.  
“In his room-try to get him out for a ramble by the river, at least. He’s getting pale again,” the woman said.  
Harry headed to his best friend’s room, and his heart warmed to the sight of Severus, lying across his bed reading ‘The Standard Book of Potions, Year 3’ for fun, his dark hair veiling his face from Harry’s view. Like Harry, or, rather, Robert, as he was in this memory, Severus was slender, but taller than Harry/Rob with long fingers like a pianist’s, hands that made sure and subtle motions when they moved, used to the carefulness of brewing the potions his mother clandestinely sold to other witches and wizards, although her husband forbid her contact with the wizarding world. Severus and his friends had quite a leg up in Potions class when they began Hogwarts, from Mrs. Snape’s tutelage-they were her helpers when her husband was working an all day and night shift in the mines. Harry/Robbie paused to admire the way Severus’s shoulders, which were becoming mannishly broad, tapered down to his slender back, and the slight swelling curve of his backside in his black slacks. He was wearing socks that didn’t match, and had holes, but Robbie didn’t sneer at him. If the Snapes’ house was dirty, violent, and deprived, Robbie’s house was none more or less so.   
Harry/Robbie knocked on the open door.  
Severus turned around, and gave him a faint smile like Mona Lisa’s. Severus’s smile truly lived in his eyes. Light danced in his eyes, and they filled with warmth.  
“Here to help me and mum with the potions?” he asked, sounding as if this was what he hoped.  
“What if them Horsemen find out?” Harry asked through Rob’s mouth, but he didn’t know who the Horsemen were.  
“They’re nobodies. They’re not the Ministry. They’ve got no power. It would be worse if Dad found out…he hates magic,” Severus said.  
“‘Ow come ‘e married a witch, then?” Robert asked.  
Severus shrugged. “Come here,” he said, and with a running jump Harry/Robbie plopped onto Severus’s bed, knowing himself to be overdoing it to get his friend to laugh.  
“It’s falling apart as it is, doesn’t need your help,” Severus chided, and the Harry side of himself recognized it as a much lighter juvenilia edition of the chastising tone he used in class. Robbie, however, was unfazed, and smiled naughtily. The boys’ eyes met, and Harry, as Robbie, felt the same jolt in his stomach that he did when his eyes met Ron’s by the lake. Sitting beside someone he was attracted to, this close, in a bed, would have made Harry flustered, but not without reason, it seemed, was Fortune a Slytherin. He was brave, in a way that tended towards resolve rather than daring, and only felt a heady gratification at being beside Severus, as if he had won a prize.   
“Sev,” he whispered, looking into his friends’ dark eyes. “Dad’s mad at me…I did something… I mean, he caught me at something…magic.”  
“Robbie…what did I tell you?” Severus said, with a more calmly stern edition of his mother’s rough care.  
“I know, I know! But…it was my Mum. I heard ‘er. I talked to ‘er. She said she wished my dad would stop beltin’ me. But, ‘e heard me talkin’ to me-self, and bust into my room, wanted to know who I was talkin’ to,” Robbie said.  
“What’d you tell him?” Severus asked.  
“That it was Mum…and what she said… I told ‘im,” Robbie said.  
Severus’s expression was grave with concern for Robbie. Something about that look broke Harry/Robbie. Robbie cried as Harry would never have allowed himself to, or had never given himself time to, and he didn’t have to tell Severus about his father’s threats and insults, at how his heart had hammered while he was hiding, at how tired of living this sort of life he was.  
“ ‘E said I killed ‘er,” Rob said, and the words came out shakily as he sobbed. Severus pulled him into his arms, and held him. Harry, as Rob, felt safe, like his hammering heart and feet always poised to run could rest at last against his friend's slender body. 

The scene dissolved, and Harry was himself again, though he felt like gelatin in a mold.  
He was looking into Fortune’s eyes.  
“He wasn’t killed by Death Eaters, was he? The boy you were in love with…he became one,” Harry deduced.


	75. Chapter 75

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rob tells Harry a story about Lily's past; Harry and Dora make a promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading The Alchemist's Daughter, and helping me bring the world in which it is set to life! That means the world to me. Stay safe, be well, end enjoy the new chapter:)

Fortune nodded sadly. Harry didn’t know what to think, how to feel…he felt a flare of distrust for his Defense Against the Dark Arts professor…how could he take Fortune at his word that he wanted to help him, when he appealed for Harry to understand the man who had betrayed his mother to her death? But, he had felt Fortune’s fear and grief, and the way his friend’s love gave him the space to release his emotions in safety…how his love had saved him. Robbie had felt for Severus Snape the same ardent loyalty and gratitude Harry had felt with his best friends, and Snape had returned his affection with tender care. He seemed like a serious, mature boy, like Ron’s ex Freddie Breedlove, with a nurturing streak beyond his years.  
“Why? Why would someone like that follow Voldemort?” Harry asked.  
Fortune sighed. “He was just as scared as I was, and involved with those Manticore boys that always made him chase their acceptance, but he never quite got it. In our last year of school…he was under a lot of pressure, to find a situation for himself, for after Hogwarts. He didn’t want to go back to the Muggle world, the world of our fathers, of drink and violence. The people he was involved with made themselves seem like the only option to stay in the Wizarding world, where we belonged-not out there, where we’d escaped from,” he said.  
“Why didn’t he just sell potions like his mum?” Harry said. “That’d be a pretty steady business, wouldn’t it?”  
“What Eileen was doing was illegal, both ways. She wasn’t a Healer or Alchemist registered with the Ministry, but she didn’t feel the need to pay tithes to the Horsemen, either,” Rob said.  
“Horsemen?” Harry asked.  
“They’re a union, of sorts. Really just a bunch of patriarchal old farts. They’re the union for cunningfolk, and decide who can operate in what district, and they get a cut of what each healer earns. Trouble is, there just wasn’t much call, for a while there, for the trade of practical magic in the Muggle world. Muggles got all wrapped up in science and medicine, didn’t believe anymore. Then it all came roaring back: Mediums on reality shows, psychic hotlines, Cosmo magazine bedside astrologer, energy medicine, crystal healing…that’s folk magic,” Fortune said. “Anyway, as times got tighter, the Horsemen got tougher on folks who were still trying to practice the old arts. They got rough with Eileen, said they’d let her off the hook-meaning not slit her throat and dump her in the river or burn her house down, the usual-if she gave them the blood of a Fairchild.”  
Hermione’s eyes widened. Ron frowned, and Pandora put her hand over her mouth. Even life with the Malfoys had not prepared her for talk of magic that vile. Even Agents Blake and Willoughby looked as if this was the gravest thing they’d heard in a day that had seen the banishment of a demon.  
“My mum…” Harry said.  
Fortune nodded.  
“They wanted her?” Harry asked.  
“They took her. They never intended to play ball with Eileen-they just knew Lily came round to learn potions from her when Mr. Snape was working a long shift, and they wanted her blood. A Muggleborn’s blood is thought to have…valuable properties,” Robbie said.  
“What did you do?” Harry asked.  
“All the underage magic we could pack into one summer,” Robbie said. “The Horsemen discourage attendance at Hogwarts, and wand magic-more’s the better for us. We found Lil, and got the jump on those fat fucks who took her with some bullshit out of our 4th year textbooks. She changed after that, Lily-she was even more tough and determined than ever. No one was ever going to get the jump on her again.”  
“You…and Dr. Lupin…and Snape…saved my mother’s life,” Harry said.  
“Well, we just caused a distraction while she bit a bloke’s hand and ran away,” Fortune said fondly.  
“She bit someone?” Harry asked. The happy bride on his father’s arm? The girl in white on her Sweet Sixteen? There was more to his mother than he had ever guessed.  
“Sounds like a tough cookie,” Agent Willoughby said, approvingly.  
“Sev would never knowingly hurt Lily. What happened out in Washington was a terrible miscalculation, Harry,” Rob said. “Don’t let Voldemort erase your mother by twisting her story. She deserves a chance to tell you, herself.”  
Harry nodded.  
“This is a lot to digest…can I grab some air, before we go back to school?” Harry asked.  
“You’ve earned it, kid,” Rob said. Harry held out his hand for Dora. She entwined their fingers, and they stepped outside the mill holding hands.

They walked down a lane bordered by overgrown wildflowers, and trees bearded with honeysuckle and creeper. Insects sang and butterflies languidly glided by.  
“It’s summer here,” Dora said.  
“Can’t be! Its barely spring. Haven’t even had Beltane, yet,” Harry said.  
Dora raised an interested eyebrow. “You keep Beltane?”  
“Well, we always have a thing at school. Lots of flowers, maypole, the whole bit, and we get to go to the parade in the village, with the flower floats and all,” Harry said. “You’ll love it.”  
Dora smiled. “I look forward to it,” she said. Harry returned her smile, and they looked deeply into each other’s eyes. She added, “But, look around, feel the air-this is summer air. And honeysuckle is a summer vine, and it is everywhere. Fortune has bent time to travel back and forth to Hogwarts! He travels through time!”  
“My mum had some interesting friends, that’s for sure,” Harry said.  
“Do you trust him, now? After the story he told? After what you saw when he cast Compassio Sensus?” Dora asked.  
“I do,” Harry said, giving a relenting sigh. “Its how the spell works. You feel what the other feels, and…once you do that, hate feels flimsy.”  
Dora smiled, relieved. “I know how angry you feel towards Voldemort. It is the anger at how alone you have always been without your parents,” she said.  
Dora truly did know, Harry remembered, and relished, relieved. “Yes….but, I can’t imagine finding out that things could have been different. What Regulus did…it caused you years of pain, and it all came crashing down on you, when you found out. Dora…tell me…how are you?”  
“Are we talking about me so that we don’t have to talk about you?” Dora asked.  
“No, we’re talking about you because I know how you feel, too. Maybe I understand even better, now. This…storm inside. It just keeps rolling and turning, like a tornado, even though you don’t want it there. You want to be happy again…but its blowing you away, too, even though its apart of you. That’s how I feel, when I read that Voldemort’s followers have killed someone else…just like they did my parents,” Harry said. “and I think its how you feel when you think of your dad, and how you didn’t have to grow up as an orphan.”  
Dora stopped walking at the head of a steep path down a red clay hillside, that led to the river’s edge.  
“Let’s go down there, shall we?” she said calmly, looking out to where the river was wide, and the music of it rushing around rocks and tiny islands sang in a hoarse symphony of water and wind in motion, sounding like murmuring sirens.  
Harry knew it to be a stalling tactic, but she was buying them both time they needed to gather their words. Harry was feeling less and less human, as if his chance to be a garden variety teenage wizard who played a broomstick sport and needed to study extra hard at Latin incantations was slipping away. He was the Chosen One, the Last Phoenix, and now, a Dragon Rider descended from a goddess. What would he have to transform into, to defeat Riddle, something besides a wizard, and less than human? Would whatever he became be like an inferno, and immolate him while obliterating the human he had tried to be? Would anyone remember that person? It would be as if he never existed, and he would be remembered for what destroyed him in his quest to stop Riddle….  
Dora’s hand was soft and warm, it anchored him as they steadied each other, and helped each other down the narrow footpath, steep with weathered gouges in the red earth. The high grass waved at their bodies, and their merino sweaters were becoming itchy and uncomfortable in the American summer heat. They reached the water’s edge, and had to cross a little wetland of cat tails and pussy willows growing in tadpole infested ankle high water. Finally, the rivers’ song greeted them, as did the red mud and wet sand shore.  
“We’re filthy!” Harry marveled.  
“There are charms for that!” Dora said. “Clearly, you’ve never been on a botanical expedition. One has to go to extreme lengths, sometimes, for the right specimen.”  
“So…you’re telling me girls in the Arcane Vale get down and dirty?” Harry asked, with a naughty smile.  
Dora made an outraged gasp, and hit his arm. Harry laughed.  
“Let’s just say, girls in the Vale do it in the woods,” Dora said. “Pick flowers, that is.”  
Harry laughed, and took in Dora’s naughty smirk and glint in her eye with love and adoration. “We can swim out to that island!” she said, pointing at a tiny mound of earth crowned with sapling pines that seemed also to be the destination of wheeling Canadian geese.  
Before Harry could protest, Pandora began stripping off her mud caked mary janes and equally ruined nylon knee socks, and doffed her grey merino sweater, leaving only her white blouse, which fit snugger. She ran delightedly ahead of him, canting like a young doe. Harry was frustrated-would she ever answer his question about her feelings? But, he did relish the prospect of getting into the (hopefully) cool water and having a swim-it was too cool yet to swim in the lake back in Scotland. Harry took off his shoes, sock, sweater, and tie, and ran behind Dora.  
She hit the water first, with a splash, but Harry was thin and quick, and the trails they made in the water with their strokes were even and parallel. He met her eye, and shared her emotions through their chord, and found they were both relishing the physicality of this, releasing their turmoil in motion. The shore of the island was rocky, which actually helped as they used the small boulders to steady their hands as they climbed to the pine needle strew ground. The thin young trees gave them cooling shade, and they sat beside each other, streaming water as they looked out at the sunlight dappling the water around them, painting the muddy water a dazzling pale blue reflection of the sky.  
“I feel so good right now,” Harry sighed, and collapsed onto the soft, fragrant earth. He smelled the sharp, evergreen sweetness of the pines, but also the water-and-earth smell of the river before them.  
Dora smiled at him. Harry felt a vacuum, a hot space of breath that had fled, form in his stomach, as he took in the sight of her. Bare legs, smooth dark honey skin dappled with water, bare feet like a nymph, her wet skirt wrinkled and lost its pleats with the weight of water, bunched to the very hilt of her thighs, and the most jarring aspect of all, her shirt…her white cotton school blouse had been reduced to sea foam. It was as thin as a tissue in some places, entirely translucent and revealing the brown skin that it clung to, and hugging her breasts. Harry could see the pink satin of her brassiere…She was wringing out her long, wildly curly dark hair, and Harry understood, now, why ancient sailors had to be tied down to stop them from jumping into siren infested waters.  
“I haven’t been happy, Harry-but, I am now. I feel good, once more. I can’t forget that my father is out there…but I can let go how I feel about him. Its different with the Dark Lord. Maybe you can’t let him go until he is gone from this earth for once and all. I can see how it would not be prudent to do so. But, I don’t want you to live in fear and hatred. You have such a beautiful soul. You are so alive,” She said.  
“You’re the beautiful one, Dora. Your soul, your everything,” Harry said.  
Dora smiled, and the delight in her gray eyes rendered them warmer, full of light like a pale stone, moonstone or opal. He looked into her gem-like eyes as he lay his palms on the sides of her waist, and kissed her. Her wet blouse and soft breasts kissed his chest. His own school shirt was soaked, and so was his body beneath, and his wet flesh felt the press of hers’ more directly than would have otherwise. Everything about them that touched was kissing in tandem with their lips: their chests, their bellies, their legs. Dora shifted against Harry, and rubbed her wet legs against his.  
She kissed his neck. Her words echoed along his skin like a scream in a valley, and her lips grazed his skin like a butterfly’s feet Harry moaned; he loved being kissed at length, long enough for it to hurt, and leave a mark.  
“Bruise me, Dora,” he said breathlessly.  
Her belly slid against his as she looked down and began unbuttoning his shirt. Water droplets dotted his flat stomach. Harry’s chest and stomach heaved as he breathed with difficulty. Dora’s warmth and softness, and her hands unbuttoning his shirt, was oppressively good, torturously exciting. Harry gasped. Air was a burden, breathlessness sent him into a dizzy ache. Dora caressed his stomach soothingly.  
“Calm down, Harry….I can feel it too…and its…almost too much. The night I dreamed of you, love, I felt things I had never felt before…I woke up feeling such sweet torture…and I had been moaning in my sleep, according to Severus. He heard me through the wall. I’d never dreamed that way, or cried out that way…I feel like that now, like I just want to scream,” Dora said.  
Harry could hear the catch of breathlessness in her voice. He could not see the red chord but he could feel it, a burn anchored in his belly button. He touched Dora in the twin place on her body, and looked into her eyes as they caught their breath. He kissed her, like he never had before, tasting her mouth with his tongue, drinking and stealing her oxygen, caressing her back. She moaned into his mouth, whined and mewled, and her warm legs wrapped around his waist as she lay beneath him. He kissed her neck, and her chest, and broke away only to allow himself to groan in what, to anyone who may be on the other side of the trees, sound like pain. Dora soothed him through it, caressing the back of his neck, but she was in a state, herself, moving against him.  
“Dora…I want you. I was ashamed to feel that way, at first…because I wanted to take care of you, look after you, be there for you…like a brother…but,” he gasped, as her body rolled and she sucked at his collarbone, “I want you, too. I love you, and I want you…”  
“That’s all right, Harry. I want you, too. I thought, when we met at the Astronomy Tower…that, you know, it would be then. Its been bloody torture, waiting,” Dora said.  
Harry could have laughed, from incredulity. Since their first meeting, Dora had wanted to make love? He had been holding back, but it was infuriating-he wanted to peel off his very skin and cover himself in her, or somehow live within her like her very own heart.  
“Dora…” Harry moaned, just for the pleasure of her name. “Love you…want you…”  
She was a wave beneath him, he was being pulled into the waves by a siren, and when he thought he would drown, instead, he immolated. He shut his eyes against the lightning strike, and when his body settled, he felt embarrassed and wanted to hide.  
“Its all right, dear,” Dora cooed.  
“No…its not. You didn’t feel anything,” Harry said guiltily.  
Dora smiled. “Yes, I did,” she said. “the chord, remember? We shared it.” Her smile and her voice did have a smooth patience, that belied satisfaction. He believed her, that she had felt good, too.  
“When you dreamed of Orchard Grange…the first time we kissed,” Harry whispered, feeling drowsy and lightheaded, “did you toss and turn in your bed?”  
He had seen the memory in the Thinkstone dissolved in the scrying bowl, seen her toss and turn as her filmy white nightgown tossed around her body, seen her grip her pillow, before Snape came in. The storm and heat were rallying again, within him, at the memory of it.  
“Yes,” she admitted, in a breathy whisper.  
Harry’s body felt light and peaceful, and this gave him a shot of daring, as did the rolling of Dora’s body and the vibrations of her sighs, and the way she grasped him and the way she kissed his neck to bruise.  
“Did you touch yourself?” he ventured.  
She moaned, and it broke like a wave into not just one sound, but a spray of sounds. Harry kissed her, hard, as she moved against his leg the way she had against her pillow. She made a sound like sobbing when she immolated as he had, and it moved him to tenderness. He caressed her and kissed her sweaty, river wet forehead as she mewled and writhed, as she caught her breath in openmouthed gasps and her frantic undulating turned languid and then ceased. He felt the same sensations as her in the red chord, and it was almost like being thrown from his body into her experience. She shared him just as completely, and they clutched and stroked each other in delight and desperation as the echoes surrounded them in a storm.  
New feelings that were truly ancient instincts waking up demanded audience in Harry’s blood. They seemed to be speaking to his hands, to his mouth, to lower parts of his body that he had been embarrassed of or regarded as vaguely ridiculous, until Dora’s kisses, until now, he wanted things, wanted to do things, and his blood urged him on, it was like something was trying to possess him, but it wasn’t an insidious outsider like Voldemort, this was a part of him that wanted its due…  
“My love…we should wait,” Dora said. “we have to return to Hogwarts. Harry, stop.”  
At those words, he ceased at once, put a bit of distance between his and Dora’s bodies, and sat up, catching his breath. The reality dawned on him, what they had almost done…but, they loved each other, Dora wanted him, he reminded himself.  
“Don’t worry, love-it shall soon be Beltane, after all,” Dora said.  
“Hmm…a parade and dancing round the maypole are just not fair compensation, in my book,” Harry quipped.  
Dora threw back her head and laughed merrily. She was so much happier than the girl he had met in Hogsmeade that day outside the dressmakers, and happier than she had been in the two days since the City of Temples.  
“Oh, of course, you have only celebrated Beltane at school. It is a bit different in the countryside! Earthier, you could say. It is tradition for couples to slip off to a quiet place and…couple. It is a day to revel in the earth’s bounty, and to be bountiful one’s self,” she said, with that naughty smirk that drove him wild.  
“You mean to…do that?” Harry said.  
“Yes, and for whatever span of time you love each other, you are a god and goddess, a king and a queen, and also married. If you ply your troth on that day, then you are married for a year to the day of next Beltane. At which point, you can go your separate ways, or remain married, forever,” Dora said.  
“That is a lot different from how we do it at school!” Harry laughed. “I never knew. So, are you asking me, to do that? You want to…what’s the word for it?”  
“Handfasting,” Dora said. “Or, if you only want to lie together, we needn’t make any promises,” she added hastily.  
“Dora, its all been a promise. Yes! Let’s do it!” Harry said. “Let’s handfast, on Beltane.”  
They laughed, hugged, and then swam back to the shore, splashing merrily, and scampered to the shore where they cast cleansing and drying spells on their clothes as they put them back on. The air was cooler, and the smell of honeysuckle was stronger, as they walked the paths they had taken to the river once again. The hour was getting later.


	76. Chapter 76

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ptolemy questions Professor Fortune; Ron expresses his concern for Ginny; Ginny breaks away from Roger and runs into someone familiar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you for embracing 'The Alchemist's Daughter', its world and characters. I hope that you are enjoying it! Stay healthy, be safe, take care of yourself, and the people you love.

The show was not quite like the holiday masques that Ginny had seen at Malfoy Manor, nor even the rough and silly productions of vagrant players who traveled from village to village along the secret paths of wizards and entertained magical crowds. If this vaguely pastoral display of free love and female flesh resembled anything, it was a revue from the film “Showgirls” that she and Ron had watched late at night on their Muggle cousin Bertie’s TV on a family trip to Cornwall. Ginny, Ron, and their teenage cousins had roared at the bad dialogue and acting, and then gone around quoting lines like, “Thanks, it’s Ver-sace!” and “Umm, doggy chow!” to make each other laugh. Their parents were collectively mystified.  
Ginny kept her opinions to herself, and sat stiffly in the dark in her chair beside Roger. She fought the urge to scan the crowd for more snake arm bands, and the faces of the men wearing them. Lately, she found that she had a great talent for disappearing. She had always been daydreamy…she’d daydream about being a proper Pureblood witch with a gentle life, and dancing at a ball at Malfoy Manor, falling in love with a proper young gentleman…then, when her father became ill, all her daydreams evaporated like vapor. They had been shallow and silly. The only thing she had wanted, or had the energy to want, was her father’s recovery, and she had put so much hope towards it, but it didn’t happen.  
But, this was different than merely daydreaming. It was almost like blacking out but remaining aware on the surface level. When the lights came back on, Ginny came back to herself. The actresses were taking a last bow and flitting off the stage.  
“What kind of place did you take me to?” Ginny whispered heatedly.  
“Gordie’s place,” Roger said.  
“A Death Eater place?” Ginny said.  
“A neutral place. Londinium is different, okay? You’re not in Dumbledore’s private sanctum, at the moment, where time stands still according to one man’s preferences. In the real word, you can’t control what the people around you believe, and you can’t just stop dealing with them because of political differences of opinion,” Roger said.  
She supposed that made sense…and not everyone in the theater was wearing a snake armband…  
“But, doesn’t it bother you?” Ginny said.  
Roger gave her a hissing whisper, to silence her, and a punishing glare. “Be quiet, all right! Yes, it does, but you can’t wear your heart on your sleeve, everywhere you go. Come on, let’s go back up to Gordie’s rooms.”  
Ginny would rather not but wanted things to be right with Roger and his brother. She was beginning to doubt herself. Roger clearly believed that she had burst them with accidental magic, and she wasn’t sure, now, that she hadn’t. How would she know, if it was unintentional? That had never happened to her before. Her mother had figured out she had magical powers when she found Ginny opening a small meadow of budding daisies to bloom, running and twirling, laughing delightedly when they opened for her. Ginny had been six, at the time. She had never unintentionally broken anything, with magic, before.  
As the crowd poured out of the theater, Ginny and Roger went back up to Gordie’s sitting room. Some of the nymphs, fleshy and hard eyed, in their scarfy costumes, were draped on Gordie’s friends’ laps, and the men were all sipping daintily from crystal glasses of a phosphorescent and frothing green drink. Ginny could guess what it was: absinthe, a hallucinogenic liquor favored by the rakes and dandies of Londinium. She had heard Draco complaining to Ron that it tasted like old licorice, and he would never drink it again.  
“We shall miss your company, Sarah,” Gordie purred, stroking the bottom of a pretty girl with chocolate eyes and chestnut brown hair. Her body was thin and firm, but soft. Ginny felt invited to look at her in ways that she instantly resisted, but she dared a brief glimpse at pert breasts, full, creamy buttocks, smooth and shapely but slender legs…  
“It’s an honor to be chosen,” Sarah replied. “What all will happen in the hieros gamos ceremony, Gordon?”  
“What’s that? Hieros Gamos?” Roger asked.  
Gordon ignored his brother, and answered Sarah, “The God will come. The Goddess will inhabit the brides, the God will liberate the primeval nature of man.”  
Sarah looked pleased with this answer. “Will you be there? At Liberalia, at Tarleton Hall?” she asked Ginny.  
“I don’t get invited to things like that. My father was a carpenter. My mother’s a midwife,” Ginny said.  
“And I come from a long line of dressmakers. I understand… but, the mysteries liberate us from class, from all earthly laws,” Sarah said.  
“Mysteries?” Ginny asked.  
“The old gods? See, us wizards have this idea that worshipping the old gods is only for the elite, the richest of us. But, that is a Guild sponsored cult manipulated for political ends. The mysteries are pure, ancient truth,” Sarah said. “I’ve been chosen to be a bride at the Liberalia mysteries, to be held at Tarleton Hall. We will partake in hieros gamos, sacred marriage, and invite the god, Dionysus, and the goddess, Ariadne, into us.”  
“No!” Ginny said. “You can’t!!! You don’t know what its like to be possessed, to have someone else ruling your mind, making you do things! No!”  
Gordie’s languid friends looked at her with displeased curiosity, now, and the nymphs looked at her with true revulsion, except Sarah. Ginny’s words had shocked her, but she wanted to know more. She was frowning thoughtfully, waiting to hear more.  
“Why don’t you take your friend upstairs, to lie down?” Gordon suggested, his voice without malice, but chilling indifference.  
Ginny knew her mistake at once-they knew that she was at school at Hogwarts, from what Roger had told her, and she had expressed protest against the Liberalia ritual. They would not let her return to the castle and the village to interfere with what was planned at Tarleton Hall. Roger grabbed her hand, but Ginny refused to follow him one more time-not if he was going to lock her up. What was he, to her? He had tentatively agreed to be her boyfriend, but she knew that was just a stalling tactic on her part to get him to slow down at the Hog’s Head…but, that didn’t give him the right to lock her up. Ginny jerked out of his grasp and ran. He called after her, sounding exasperated, but she didn’t stop, couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop. She ran until she was pushing open the theater door, running out onto the Londinium street. 

Harry, Hermione, Dora, and Ron returned to school through Fortune’s briefcase. As they were entering the classroom, someone was pounding on the door of Fortune’s classroom.  
“Someone really wants to discuss their grade,” Harry said.  
“I’d think it was Hermione, if you weren’t right here,” Ron said. Hermione folded her arms. Fortune opened the door. It was Lucy Malfoy, in her Hufflepuff boy disguise.  
“Ptolemy! What’s so urgent? Is everything all right?” Dora asked her cousin, walking swiftly to her side.  
“I’m fine, Dora,” Lucy said comfortingly. “Actually, I just wanted to speak to Professor Fortune. But…its private. Is that all right?”  
Dora was still wearing a concerned frown. Harry put a grounding hand on Dora’s shoulder, and stroked it calmingly. Her opalescent eyes met his. He remembered himself at Lucy’s age, and understood that she needed to have time of her own, to express cares of her own, sometimes, as much as Dora felt like her big sister. Dora understood, and stepped slightly back from Lucy.  
“Yeah, fine by me,” Rob said, and said, “This way, Mr. Fanshawe,” to Lucy, and headed towards his office door with her.  
Natalie turned to the rest, and said, “Look at that-its only nine o’clock! Plenty of study time. Head back up to your towers and hit the books! Good night, guys.”  
They wished Natalie a good night and headed up to Gryffindor Tower.  
“Lights out isn’t till 11, Dora. Why don’t you study with us for a bit?” Hermione asked. Harry couldn’t resist a broad smile at Hermione’s suggestion, and Dora’s assent. She turned out not to be the only Ravenclaw in Gryffindor Tower, that night. Somachandra was sitting in the big red armchair by the fire, Parvati on his lap. She was whispering something in his ear as Harry, Dora, Hermione, and Ron walked in.  
“Pandora! Where did you disappear to? You weren’t at dinner!” Somachandra said.  
“Wow…I thought for sure you’d be with Lav and the rest of the Bonnets. I hardly see her,” Parvati complained.  
“Lavender loathes me. She thinks I’m a natural-born Bonnet, she resents it,” Dora said.  
Parvati laughed, relishing her former bestie’s mortification. “Why do you put up with that lot, anyway?” she asked Dora.  
Dora lied smoothly, “I have obligations. My uncle is on the Guild. Things won’t go so easily for him if I upset the children of his colleagues. Its very sensitive, between Gryffindor and Slytherin right now. No one wants a war.”  
“I’ve never felt so lucky to be Muggleborn,” Parvati said, shooting Hermione a commiserating look that Hermione awkwardly returned. “Well,” she continued. “It’s a good thing you’re not with them, anyway. Who knows if Vivian and Deverell are coming back? She said they were just going to some theatre in Londinium, but it really seemed like Thrale and Eastling wanted to do a runner before Fortune could ask them who told Crabbe and Goyle to start all that mess in the Menagerie. It’s a bloody nightmare- the Centaur Chieftain and Dumbledore had a row.”  
“What?” Harry said.  
Somachandra nodded. “Yeah, he didn’t like his herd being endangered like that. They might go to Aiaia, like Lav’s ex, Serpentarius.”  
“No!” Dora said. “First the Faeries, now the Centaurs…will we have any magic left without nonhumans in our midst?”  
“Dora, that’s a superstition. If wizards siphoned magic from the presence of nonhuman creatures, how could we do magic at all without them?” Hermione said.  
“Precisely what I’m saying, Hermione. Maybe certain wizards, who believe in our inherent superiority to other magical beings wouldn’t credit it, but the wizards of the Vale have always believed that the blessings of Faeries and goodwill with other nonhuman creatures keeps magic in balance, a balance of good faith. If we keep betraying that good faith, could magic withdraw from us?” Dora said.  
“I think magic is inherently housed within us, a genetically written part of who we are….but, it certainly can’t be a good thing to isolate ourselves from other supernatural creatures and appear hostile to them, no,” Hermione said.  
“Well, this is quite a preview! When is that debate club going to be up and running, anyway, Granger?” Somachandra asked.  
“As soon as your sister can get Hufflepuff to pick someone besides Shepherd. He’s awful,” Hermione said.  
“Shh…Ginny could be around. Aren’t they seeing each other?” Parvati said.  
Henrietta Grimshaw, Ginny’s roommate, and her friend Saskia Worsley came down the stairs, talking in somehow audible but confidential giggles and whispers.  
“Have you seen Gin?” Ron asked.  
Henrietta looked annoyed, Saskia’s eyes went hard and blank as she determinedly ignored them all, waiting for her conversation with Henrietta to resume.  
“She left hours ago, with Shepherd. Check the Conveyance list-you’re a Prefect,” Henrietta said, and she and Saskia settled in a corner of the common room to continue they’re conversation.  
Whenever a Hogwarts student called a carriage, their name appeared on a list, and the Prefects of each house got a copy, by which they referenced the names of students of their house to make sure they were in the castle by bed-check.  
Ron frowned, looking concerned.  
“I’ll go get the list from Ms. Fridaythorpe,” Hermione said.  
“Good, she likes you. I don’t think she trusts gingers,” Ron said. Hermione allowed a smile at his joke, but she could tell he was worried about Ginny. Hermione left the tower, for the records’ office.  
“Where could Ginny be?” Harry asked. “Do you think she’s with Roger Shepherd?”  
“I wouldn’t wonder,” Dora said. “She’s quite taken with him, and he swooped in when she got so upset today.”  
“She’s keeping secrets from me, but I feel like I should have been more on top of things. Between Quidditch, and working on the weekends…” Ron said, and sighed. On weekends, Ron worked at the Potions shop in the village, Fishwick’s Physics. Harry had a pang of guilt. When Ron drove out to Wiltshire with him, and ventured fearlessly to Castle Arianrhod, he had taken the weekend off from one of the jobs he desperately needed, but it wasn’t just money he was missing, but time with Ginny and Molly who needed him so much.  
“We’ll find her. Maybe she just wanted a little private flying practice, in the countryside-I did ask her to condition with the team this summer,” Harry said.  
Ron nodded, but he didn’t look convinced.  
“You all grew up together: you, Gin, Dora, and the Malfoy kids. What was that like?” Harry asked.  
Dora sighed. “Well…Ron was tutored with Draco, so they got on well, shared everything,” she said. “I wish I could have learned with them, but that’s not how its done, when it comes to girls.”  
Ron gave Dora an apologetic smile, and said, “You were always clever, Dora,” and in answer to Harry, said, “Me and Draco shared our lessons, I wore his old clothes, I slept over in his bed. Mum was always tending to Madam Malfoy and bringing Ginny along, and she played with Dora and the Malfoy girls. We were just always around each other, and it wasn’t until we started to get older that anyone tried to separate or discourage us. We were born to different places…but, it really sucks being told what place you’re born to be in. If you’ve got the brains, if you’ve got the talent, if you have the potential, why shouldn’t what you’re good at and what you know you want to do be what you’re meant to do? Why should someone else’s opinion, or tradition, decide? They tell you who you are according to how you’re born, where we’re from. And I think its done a real number on Gin. She’s convinced that Dad died because of how our lives are, because we’re poor and because he’s a Squib.”

“I don’t think she’s altogether wrong. You deny someone opportunities to rise, keep them working long and hard for little pay, the end result is that when sickness or injury does come, they won’t have the time or resources to recover. There is no rest cure for those who have to work to hold up the world,” Dora said.  
“Yeah, Crumpet, and I’m glad you feel that way, but it’s killing her! Don’t you see? Ginny’s buried in her pain,” Ron said. “I don’t know what to do! She won’t talk to me, or Mum.”  
“Ronald…Ginny will come back to you,” Dora said, with kind reassurance.  
“If someone had told me how unfair the Wizarding world is, I think I would have said, ‘Thanks, but,no thanks’ to this whole wizard gig,” Somachandra said. “There’s enough discrimination to go around in the Muggle world, for the color of my skin, my name, my parents having been born outside of Britain. Then, I come here, and its because I’m the first wizard in my family. Then there’s all the usual rot about class, and money. Is that all that rules the world, wherever you go?!”  
Harry was surprised to hear such passion in his voice-he thought of Ravenclaws as mild-mannered. Somachandra’s girlfriend, Parvati, was looking at him with fierce agreement, and nodding thoughtfully.  
“Things have to change,” Ron said firmly.  
“For everyone: women, Squibs, people of color, non-humans, Muggleborns, Half-bloods,” Dora said.  
Harry agreed wholeheartedly with his friends, but he felt a squirmy sense of guilt. He wished he knew what to do to make these necessary changes come about.  
Hermione returned with the Conveyance list.  
“Look!” she said.  
On the Conveyance list, beneath ‘Lottie Hatmaker, Destination: Dentist’ and ‘Caxton Wildgoose, Destination: Home for dinner’, was ‘Ginevra Weasley and Roger Shepherd, Destination: Buttershaw Hall.”  
“Why would Gin be going up there?” Ron said.  
Harry could think of nothing. 

Someone grabbed Ginny’s shoulders as she ran.  
“Get off!” she screamed, incensed, thinking it was Roger. The hands on her shoulders held their grip. She looked up, and saw not Roger’s face, but Vivian Thrale, a Slytherin boy.  
“Caught a little Squib,” he said with relish, as if a Squib was something juicy to be eaten.  
There was something inherently hungry about him. There was hunger in his eyes, and in his voice, and a wildness that made him apt for trouble. Maybe it was trouble that he was hungry for.  
“I’m not a Squib, I’m a witch!” Ginny said.  
“All you Weasleys are Squibs,” Vivian insisted. “Why’d you leave school? Did you take up whoring? A little extracurricular fun?”  
Deverell Eastling raised a bemused eyebrow, and smirked. He was standing in front of a black carriage, with Lavender Brown and Rosaline Wilcox. Ginny leveled a glare at Lavender: she was a Gryffindor, like Ginny, but she was just standing by. Where was her loyalty?  
“Let her go, Vivian,” Deverell said. “Its late, Miss Weasley. May we offer you a ride?”  
“Go to Hell!” Ginny said.  
“We’ve only just come from there, we’re bored of it,” Deverell said.  
“I’m not going anywhere with you!” Ginny said.  
Deverell shrugged. “Suit yourself. We have no use for a Squib-blooded little peasant, in any case. It’s called charity, you two-penny slut. But, I daresay you’ll become acquainted with it intimately.”  
Vivian, Deverell, Rosaline and Lavender got in their carriage, and Ginny’s sense of vivifying outrage and moral superiority faded as she listened to its wheels leave her. They were every bit as decadent and violent as Gordon’s posse, but they were the only familiar faces Ginny had seen in Londinium, aside from Professor Snape. She felt alone, jarringly alone, as if someone was shaking her to remind her that she was alive and alone. Those two words kept hitting her like two waves, ‘Alive, and alone.’ 

“All right, Mr. Fanshawe, how can I help ya?” Professor Fortune asked Ptolemy.  
‘Don’t lose your nerve,’ she told herself, just as she had when she cut all of her hair off, and put on boys’ clothes for the first time.  
“Professor-do you remember taking these pictures?” Ptolemy asked, and pulled the pictures of Lily Potter out of their folder. Once again, the breathtaking images of Mrs. Potter’s fresh and classic beauty unfurled before them like an ancient relic that could only be glimpsed on the most holy days.  
Fortune smiled sadly. “Yeah,” he said. “Took those on Lil’s 16th birthday. Stole a kiss from the birthday girl, too,” he said, and smiled wryly, as if embarrassed at his sixteen year-old self.  
“Did you fancy her?” Lucy asked.  
“I was confused. She was safe, and very understanding. She was my best friend, Lil. But, where did you get those pictures?” Fortune asked. “I gave them to Harry?”  
“I borrowed them,” Ptolemy said, deciding how much she wanted to tell him. “Let me show you something, Professor.”  
Ptolemy pulled a faded issue of a small, village newspaper out of the pages of a Robert Louis Stevenson novel she kept in her book satchel. The article Lucy had saved included a picture of Ginevra Weasley from the summer before last, when she was chosen as the Flower Queen of their village Floralia celebration. Lucy had not been able to look enough at the sight of Ginny in one of Anthea’s old embroidered white linen day dresses, and a crown of daisies in her hair. She had an appealing rosy blush in her cheeks, and waved enthusiastically from a flower float.  
“All right…I think I see,” Professor Fortune said.  
“Why does the girl in your photograph look just like the girl in mine, Professor? That’s what Ginevra and I would like to know. When she saw those pictures, she was startled at the resemblance between Lily Potter, and herself,” Ptolemy said. “Here they are, at around the same age, give or take, both in white…and the resemblance cannot be denied.”  
“I wouldn’t insult you by denying it,” Fortune said. “Is Ginny really upset? She’s a sweet girl.”  
“Yes, very sweet,” Ptolemy said.  
So sweet…no matter how far away she was from Whisper-In-the-Vale, she always smelled like sun-warmed hay, freshly mowed grass, and wild roses. The smell of it wafted from her vibrantly red hair, which was the color of spicy cinnamon, fiery sunsets, and flames.  
“Why do they look so much alike, Professor?” Ptolemy asked.  
To her surprise, suave and enigmatic Professor Fortune sighed loudly, as if feeling a bit helpless and weary.  
“I…can’t tell you. But, I do think its time all this was told. I’m sorry, Miss Malfoy-I can’t,” Fortune said. “Ginny’s mother has got to be the one to talk to her, and her brother.”  
“But, Professor?! What’s the big secret? Obviously, something is afoot,” Lucy demanded.  
“Off with you now, Lucilla. That’s enough. To bed,” Fortune said.  
“Who told you who I am?” Ptolemy demanded.  
“We’re all telling each other who we are, all day. The trouble starts when who we are doesn’t line up with who we want others to believe we are,” Fortune said. “Now, I’ve got a question for you: why have you held onto this picture of Ginny Weasley for so long?”  
Ptolemy blushed. 

Ginny started walking, even though she didn’t really know what she was looking for, and she knew well that she didn’t know anyone in Londinium. She had never even been there until Ron took her to the Molly House, the Queen’s Closet, on Founder’s Day. She had begged to see one, for herself, and he took her along.  
The Queen’s Closet! She could go there! It was night, the place would be open, and at least it was a destination. At least one person on the street, a warlock or faerie with a furry body and horns, had grabbed his crotch at her, and the Anonymas kept leering at her either to join their trade, or get off their block looking so young and fresh. Londinium was doing her head in.  
“Locus, Queen’s Closet!” she cast, with her sturdy oak wood wand, which reminded her of her father. Something about the reliable feel of it in her hand reminded of talking to him and looking into his eyes, knowing that he was paying attention to her 100%.  
Ginny’s wand started leading her through the Londinium streets, until she found herself cutting down an alley to a nondescript building. Ginny entered through the back door, as she had done with Ron a month earlier, and entered what looked like a cabaret with a red velvet curtained stage, a small dancefloor, and a bar with mirrors on its back wall just like in that Edouard Manet painting of a tired female bartender.  
On the stage, a band of women in tuxedoes and tophats played an accordion, standing bass, and fiddle, respectively. On the floor, painted and coifed Mollies in sumptuous Faerie fabric ballgowns swirled beneath the chandelier’s golden light, in the arms of debonair men in expensive suits, rugged looking men with beefy arms who looked like they unloaded freight on the docks, or women dressed, like the band onstage, in mens’ clothes…just like Ptolemy. Ginny felt hot and tingly again, like she had when kissing Roger, thinking of Ptolemy in those boys’ slacks, in that Hufflepuff tie, the way her hair fell in her eyes the color of opals…  
“Look what the cat dragged in,” said a jaunty voice that was as confident and cocky as a boy’s, but with the clear beauty of a girl’s voice.  
Ginny turned around and saw a girl in black pants and a fine dark green velvet frock coat and waistcoat, and a tasteful black satin cravat. Her dark hair fell carelessly into her eyes, and her body was slender and elegant, like Lucy’s. She gave Ginny a hot once-over glance, from her head to her toes, and Ginny felt seen, and wanted, and a little overwhelmed with the unbidden heat that rose in her body. She felt it in her face, in her spine…why did she seem to keep feeling these things for girls, and not for Roger?  
“Um…hi,” Ginny said.  
The girl laughed. Ginny blushed.  
“Look at you. You’re a rose. Shall I call you that, Rose?” said the girl.  
“Oh…um…I’m lost, actually,” Ginny laughed.  
“Then, shall I call you Perdita?” the girl joked.  
“Er…” Ginny said.  
“Come-shall we dance?” said the girl.  
Ginny didn’t know what to say, but she knew what she wanted.  
“Yes,” she managed to whisper. She hadn’t felt this dry-throated and bashful in her life. She felt alive as the girl in velvet took her into her arms-alive, but not alone anymore, as they danced.  
“Can I cut in?” asked a beautiful young woman in a green satin gown, her long blond hair in an updo. She looked as flawlessly glamorous as Marie Antoinette, a seamless creation of powder and satin, gleaming hair, jewelry and ornaments, who smelled like ice roses.  
“She’s lost already, don’t wanna make her dizzy,” said the girl Ginny danced with.  
“This rose is still in bud, Jade,” said the glamorous girl.  
“Oh, I see. Well, that’s a horse of a different breed,” Jade said, and released her. “One day, just not today, Rosebud.”  
“Who do you think you are? I liked her! I don’t even know you!” Ginny said.  
“Pipe down, Miss Weasley. You don’t belong in a place like this,” said the girl who’d broken in. There was something familiar abut the cadence of her voice…Ginny looked closer at her, and recognized her nose, her lips, her opal gray eyes…they were the same as Ptolemy’s.  
“Draco!!!” Ginny said.  
He put one finger to his lips, and said, “Shhh,” with a smirk.  
“You’ve left them? You’re not a Death Eater anymore?! They’re saying you’re a Death Eater like your father!” Ginny said.  
“You want to shout that from the clocktower, or perhaps the bridge, while you’re at it?” Draco said.  
“Well, have you left them?” Ginny said insistently.  
“Come with me, Ginny,” Draco said. She followed the gleaming emeraldine trail of Draco’s gown up a flight of stairs, and they entered a small bedroom.  
“You know one of my secrets, obviously, you may as well have the brace,” Draco said. “I was never truly a Death Eater, Ginny. I’ve been spying on my father for the Order of the Phoenix.”  
Ginny took this in. It made sense. Draco cared nothing for political or ideological causes, and he hated his father. Lucius Malfoy pretended to be the perfect handsome and dashing gentleman wizard, but he was an aging hack and a bigot who pushed his only son cruelly to be someone he wasn’t. Draco’s refuge had always been the company of his mother, sister, and cousin, Pandora, but with Anthea’s elopement and Narcissa’s worsening opium problem, that sanctum was gone.  
“I come out here when I can…when there are no eyes on me…I feel that I am myself, when I’m like this. The life I lead at the Manor, now, that is the costume, that is the false name. All I do is lie, at the Manor- and today, I had to lie to the Dark Lord,” Draco said.  
He knew. Draco, too, knew what his presence was like. It had a darkly sweet taste, like licorice, and an acrid burn like smoke. Ginny said nothing, but she tried to tell Draco with her eyes that she knew.  
“What are you doing here?” Draco said.  
Again, Ginny said, “I’m lost.”  
“Not anymore,” Draco said. “Let’s get you back to school, Ginevra.”  
For the first time in hours, Ginny smiled, feeling grateful for a familiar face in a city of strangers.


	77. Chapter 77

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny learns the truth; Pandora and Cressida question Vesta; Harry makes Ginny an offer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading; stay safe, and take care of yourselves!

“Ron misses you,” Ginny said.  
Draco made a face, somewhere between skepticism and regret. “Your brother doesn’t know what love is,” he said.  
“Yes, he does!” Ginny protested, and felt a stitch of regret, too.  
She wished she hadn’t walked away from Ron, and the Gryffindor table. But, when one bloke is yelling at a girl, and the other is rubbing her shoulders while she cries, it’s a no-brainer who she’ll go with. Shouting like that and then running off was worse than bursting the pipes at the Hog’s Head-if, like Roger insisted, she had done that-and she knew Roger was done with her. That was a chasm of new reality that Ginny could only stare into, like a deep pit that seemed to cough shadows.  
“Well, maybe I don’t,” Draco conceded. “Either way, take this Alkonost feather.”  
He pulled a long, iridescent feather from his emerald satin reticule. Ginny had seen the woman-faced birds, half siren and half phoenix around the school, but who knew if they would remain after the upset at the Menagerie?  
Ginny accepted the feather, and Draco said, “Think of where you most want to be, the one place in the world you want to be, and it will take you there.”  
“Thank you, Draco,” she said. She had known this peevish, sullen, introverted boy all her life, and for all their scrapes, she knew that Ron loved him, and she felt very warmly towards him for this favor, too.  
Ginny closed her eyes, and tried to picture the Gryffindor common room, its fat armchairs upholstered with embroidered satin and velveteen, its roaring fire and Afghani carpet…but, that was the destination she knew she was supposed to choose. All she really wanted was her father. He was the place she most wanted to go, in all the world-his workshop with unfinished, raw wood projects scattered about, fragrant wood shavings littering the floor, and his dangerously gleaming tools which she had known all her life not to touch…the way they competed to crack the most chestnuts on the Twelfth Night of Yule, and the way he had lifted her off the flower float as if she weighed nothing when she had been named Flower Queen at 14 on Floralia day…she wanted her father.  
Ginny felt magic like a sea wind picking up around her, and it carried her in the eye of a small storm. She hit a wooden floor, landing hard on her bottom, and cried, “Ow!!!!”  
She looked around. She was not in the Gryffindor common room...she was in a dusty, crowded attic room. She looked around, and saw all the flotsam one would expect of an attic: chests, lamps, dressmaker’s dolls, dollhouses and rocking horses, old furniture, all of it covered with dust so thick it was an inch deep, and brown. She heard the scurrying of unseen creatures, too, and flinched to her feet. She tripped over something square, solid, and as tall as a child, and when it split open, sending Ginny to the floor once more, she saw that it was a Hogwart’ student’s school trunk. Old robes-crimson lined, Gryffindor, spilled out, as well as pots of long dried ink and ink ruined parchment, and several papers. She looked through them, and saw that they were essays…written by Sirius, Harry’s godfather, when he was a student. Some of the papers were decidedly extracurricular: letters to and from someone called ‘Robbie’, the ones from Sirius full of so many crossed out lines that Ginny deduced he had never actually sent these drafts, and what appeared to be the lyrics of songs or maybe poetry that Sirius had written. There were also photos, the old Polaroid kind that slide out of the camera. The lighting was bad, but even in such a humble medium, where Lily Potter appeared, she was stunning. In one picture, she was being hugged around the waist by Remus Lupin, and smiling with infectious joy. Her hair…her nose…her lips…Ginny could have been looking at herself if her life had frozen on Floralia, when her father was alive, and she was just as happy as Lily Potter in these pictures. She was engrossed in Sirius’s pictures of his friends-Remus, Lily, and Harry’s father, James-and by the time she heard someone entering the attic, she hadn’t taken care to hide.  
“Lux!” the intruder cast, and Ginny felt a rat’s instinct to scramble away from the light. When she tried, she was impeded by another school trunk, and fell over it, sending a Slytherin colors Quidditch sweater and a clinking Prefect’s badge sailing across the floor. The wizard who had found her shone their lighted wand in her face. She squinted against its glare, but saw enough to know who was holding a wand on her.  
“Professor Snape?” she said.  
“What are you doing here? Did you follow me? Answer! You don’t belong here!” he barked. He had never spoken to her, that way, the way he spoke to slow, untalented students.  
“No! I didn’t follow you, Sir! I made a wish!” she said.  
“A wish?” he snapped disbelievingly.  
“Yes…on an Alkonost’s feather…I meant to go back to Hogwarts, but I was thinking of my father. I wished to be with my father…” she said.  
His expression changed from sour and outraged, to gobsmacked. In shock, his face softened, and for the first time, she noticed that he was not an old man. He was younger than her parents. His face was long and thin, with a prominent nose, and dark eyes. He wasn’t handsome or not, his features were too marked by an air of formidability and intelligence to be evaluated for their aesthetic appeal. Ginny had ceased to feel intimidated in his class, but she felt uncomfortable now.  
“Who told you?” he asked softly.  
Told her what? What was he talking about? Was this his house? Why were Sirius’s old school things in Snape’s house? What did he think someone had told her? Ginny was afraid…was this Death Eater business? Had he gone back to Voldemort after leaving Hogwarts?  
“That’s why you were in Londinium. You didn’t say anything at the pawn shop,” he said. “Shepherd-you weren’t entirely honest with him, about why you wanted to skive off class for the day and go to Londinium. So like your mother-she only told me half her plans, too. And, as you did young master Shepherd, she jettisoned me and went the rest of the way alone.”  
Ginny was more confused than she had been in her life. Professor Snape knew her mother? How could that be? Ginny hardly knew what to say, but her silence seemed to be encouraging Snape to talk.  
“You found me,” he said, sounding sad, and resigned. “What do you want to know, Ginevra?”  
“My mother…?” she asked.  
He noticed the picture in her hands, and held out his hand in asking for it. She handed it to him.  
“Come,” he said, and she followed him out of the attic. Ginny looked around the corridor as Snape raised the attic stairs back to the ceiling. The walls were covered with faded gray silk, and the portraits on the walls were of venerable, forbidding, but darkly elegant witches and wizards of the past. They bore their names on gold plates, names like ‘Scorpius Black’, ‘Ambrosia Black’. Dora’s family, the Blacks! The legendary Dark Wizards, infamous for their rivalries, duels, wealth, good looks, and family legend that they had carried ancient magical secrets to Britain from Africa and the Middle East.  
“This house belongs to the Blacks. You live here?” she said.  
“I am a servant here. It’s a small staff,” he said, with a touch of irony whose allusion Ginny didn’t know.  
“If the Blacks have a house…doesn’t it belong to Dora?” Ginny asked. She felt a little disturbed-maybe Snape really was, as the rumors went, obsessed with marrying Pandora one day.  
“If she wants it, I daresay she’ll do something about it,” Snape said. “In here,” he added, and with a refined and proper gesture of his long-fingered hands, pointed to a Gaslamp lit drawing room.  
Ginny sat down on a green velvet chaise lounge. Madam Malfoy would love this place, she decided, then remembered that the Blacks were her natal family-she had probably grown up in this house. Ginny’s own mother, however, would say, “There’s a house that’s not a proper home,” as she often did when she tended the rich. If Ginny ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhed’ at garden, fountain, staircase, chandelier, painting or statue at a wealthy wizard’s estate while on a call with her mother, Molly would give her a stern reminding look, and a shake of her copper head to remind her daughter that ‘all that glitters is not gold’. She wondered what Snape meant, that her mother had ‘jettisoned’ him-if anyone had a complaint to make between the two of them, it would be Molly. She was the one chucked, when the Malfoys fired her and hired Snape to care for Madam Malfoy.  
Snape sat on the Ottoman across from her, his posture straight, his hands folded in his lap. Just like at school, he was wearing his dark alchemists’ coat and robe which made him look like a priest of an obscure sect.  
“Your mother,” he repeated, his voice pregnant with the labor of holding back strong emotion. He glanced at Lily Potter’s picture, and said, “she was my best friend. My first friend. I had a dream, the kind of dream that our neighbors came to our house to discuss with my mother when my father wasn’t home, the kind that has a meaning, a warning or a harbinger of things to come. I dreamed that I was following a white horse across a moor, and at the end of the long journey was a redheaded girl. I felt so strongly that I knew her, and I loved her. I had never felt love before. I suppose I loved my mother, as all children do. But, I felt the warmth of adoration in my heart for her, your mother, and it was shaped and felt exactly like the Sacred Heart on fire with love for us sinner that I had seen on candles and statues at church. I found her, at the playground of her school. She had been doing magic for some time, but her parents…well, they were Muggles. They’d told her it was ESP, or some rot. I told her it was magic, and she was a witch. When her school went on holiday, we were together all the time.”  
He seemed proud of this, that he had contradicted the adults, and that his friend had believed him.  
Snape went on, “She used to come by my mother’s house, and learn Potions. I told her everything that my mother had told me to expect of Hogwarts. We made other friends, tried our best to guide and take care of them. We tried our best. School began. My mother’s family were cunning men and women, who did petty magic for Muggles. They had no coven. She, Remus, and Robert came from Muggles, so we all had to be Sorted at school.”  
“You were in Slytherin,” Ginny said.  
Snape hated to be interrupted, she remembered from Potions class, and expected to be told off. Instead, he nodded.  
“Yes. As was Robert. Remus and your mother were in Gryffindor,” he confirmed. “We vowed to remain friends…but, vows are harder to keep than one anticipates at 12. We went down very different paths. But, our paths crossed again, when your mother’s first husband died. She was distraught-Voldemort had intruded into her house, murdered her husband, and she barely escaped with her life, and her son’s, Harry’s. She came to me. I…tried to be a friend to her. We became close, once more. Perhaps you will think it was shameless of us, to become lovers so soon after her husband’s murder. Perhaps you will think that I took advantage of a widow. But, Lily and I…we clung to each other in a storm. It was only one, dire moment…but, we made you. And you were perfect.”  
Ginny didn’t know what to say. Was the Professor going mad? He was obviously speaking not of her mother at all, but Harry’s mother…and he seemed to think that they were old friends, and had a child together…and he thought Ginny was that child. She was alone in a creepy old house with a madman, who was rumored to be fatally infatuated with a girl her age. Ginny felt cold with fear, inside and out. Should she keep him talking, or, for the second time that night, run?  
“Voldemort killed her,” Ginny said.  
“Yes,” he said. “Shortly after you were born, Lucius Malfoy rode by our home, on his daily horseback ride. He saw your cradle in the window, but, thankfully, not your mother beside it, rocking you. When he inquired, later, I lied. I said I had taken a Squib peasant girl as a whore, and that we had a bastard child. He dropped the matter, as such practices were common enough among Death Eaters. Your mother wasn’t convinced that this lie would protect you and Harry for long, and she began to make plans of her own, to run away to America. She took you and Harry, and she ran, to America.”  
“America?” Ginny said.  
The land of movies and theme parks, of celebrities and modern, high-tech, glamorous innovations, blue skies and green lawns, swimming pools the color of turquoise stones, and sun- drenched beaches.  
“She had been taken from me, once before. I couldn’t bear the thought of her running, alone. And you, you and Harry. Our children. I followed her. They followed me,” Snape said.  
“Did you know they would?” she asked.  
He shook his head, and said, “No. They followed me because I defected. Finding Lily Potter was just a boon. Your mother died fighting. I know. I am sure. I didn’t see it…I was overpowered. When I came to, Harry was gone, and you were screaming for me. I picked you up. I returned to Britain, but where was I to go? Neither the Death Eaters, nor the Order of the Phoenix wanted me, I could get no work with this Mark upon my arm, signifying my former allegiance to a tyrant, a murderer. What sort of life would that have been for an innocent little girl, to be raised by a destitute pariah, scorned as soon as people hear her name? My mother wanted to raise you…but, nor could I let you grow up as I had, being reminded constantly to stay in your place, keep your head down, remember who your betters are. She meant well, but her idea of advising me was to remind me I would always be second class in the world of wizards, a petty village cunning-man walking amongst the heirs of Merlin. You were my perfect Rose. I owed it to your mother to let nothing tarnish you. So, I returned to the Vale, and gave you to the midwife’s family. They were kind. They were good. They would love you, I was sure.”  
Ginny looked at the picture of Lily. She didn’t want to believe any of this. She was sure that Snape was mad. But, the Alkonosts’s wish…and her resemblance to Lily…She had, without meaning to, wished for her father, and it had brought her here. Snape thought she already knew some of the story and had tracked him down to hear the rest. The Alkonost’s feather took her to her father, just not the father of her memory, the kind carpenter who always smelled like sweet wood and salty sweat. And her resemblance to Lily…what else could explain it, but that she was her mother?  
“Does Harry know?” she asked.  
“I don’t know. He thinks he knows quite an awful lot more than he does, and what he assumes is poisoning his soul,” Snape said.  
“Why do you hate him?” she asked.  
“I hate the blindness he is allowed to walk in, the way Sirius Black has raised him like a petted prince, with no preparation for the dark forces he must face. Had he stayed in my care…” Snape began, but stopped short of saying how he would have raised Harry.  
“If you hate Sirius Black so much, maybe you should move out of his family’s house,” Ginny said. “and Harry isn’t spoiled. He killed the Basilisk, he survived the Tri-Wizard tournament-he’s a good wizard!”  
Snape sighed. “Now, you know everything you must. I assume so, as you seem to have no questions?”  
“What? Are you daft? Of course, I have questions! I…I’m not really me! You call me Rose! Is that my name? Is Rose my real name?” she demanded, and she felt her voice rising, disliked its shrill ring, but couldn’t seem to control it.  
“Severus? Is someone in there with you? Who is it?” called an approaching male voice.  
“Who is that?” Ginny said, alarmed.  
“Regulus Black,” Snape said quickly. “Do you still have that feather?”  
Ginny nodded.  
“Think only of Hogwarts,” Snape said sternly, in that voice he used in class that no one dared dream of disobeying. She closed her eyes, as the footsteps grew closer.  
When she opened them, she was in the common room.

Harry blinked. He saw magic every day, but some sights still struck him as fantastical, and this was one. Ginny appeared on the Afghani carpet before the fire in the Common Room, wearing a sumptuous blue velvet cloak and holding a large feather like her life depended on it. She was pale and the look of her face was one of shellshock, as if her glittering black eyes had seen something grave and terrible, an angel or a monster.  
Ron rushed to her side.  
“Gin!” he said, putting his arms around his sister. “What’s wrong?”  
She opened her mouth, and nothing came out. Ginny was too shocked to speak. Her eyes met Harry’s, and she looked long and searchingly at him, as if seeing him for the first time. 

All thoughts of studying fell to the wayside when Ginny Weasley showed up abruptly in the common room, looking as if she had been on a sea voyage in monster infested waters. When she got her wits about her, however, she made a scene of not wanting to answer her brother’s questions: Why had she gone to Buttershaw Hall, where was Shepherd, where had she been, where did she get the blue velvet cloak, and where had she been?  
“Ron! I don’t ask you how many boys you’re cheating on Draco with at one time, why do you need to know everything I do, everywhere I go?!” Ginny demanded.  
“Because you disappeared from school!” Ron fired back.  
Ginny stormed upstairs, her sunset and cinnamon red hair dancing behind her.  
“I’ll sort it,” Hermione sighed.  
“You’re not a bloody life coach,” Ron grumbled.  
“No, but I’ll be bloody well qualified after years of friendship with you two! So you can get out of that mood with me, any minute now,” Hermione fired back.  
“Sorry, ‘Mione,” Ron said, sounding deflated.  
“I’ll go speak to Ginny. I’ve known her for years, but we haven’t been so very close recently, so I reckon that’s just enough familiarity and distance,” Pandora said.  
“All right, but you have to be back in Ravenclaw by 12 or we’ll both feel Kashmira’s wrath,” Hermione said.  
Somachandra laughed. “Come on! You’re afraid of Kash? You should see her with the Pygmy Puffs at the Magical Menagerie petstore, she’s a soft touch at heart,” he said.  
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Ron said, but with fondness and respect.  
Pandora headed upstairs, to the Gryffindor girls’ dormitory. There was nothing remarkably feminine about the space, it had the same dark wood festooned with banners of a golden lion rampant on a crimson banner as the rest of Gryffindor tower’s suite of rooms. She realized that she didn’t know what room Ginny slept in, but when she heard sobbing, she just followed it.  
Ginny was sprawled out on her bed, her red hair spread out over her back in splayed tendrils. Dora had always loved the look of red hair when it catches the light. It looked magical, like a Faerie’s blessing. Her shoulders trembled as she cried. As Dora crossed the threshold, she became slightly unsure of how she would be received. Ginny had gone a long time thinking herself abandoned by Dora for the likes of Agrippina, Calliope, Belvina, and Stelliana.  
They were girls of her class, but they were so stiff and judgmental, critical and shrewd beyond their years when it came to finding and exploiting peoples’ weaknesses and making a game of their reputations. How could Ginevra ever have thought herself replaced? She couldn’t tromp through the woods with them, fly brooms purloined from Draco’s Quidditch equipment with them, or hike out to the fields at the edge of Whisper-In-The-Vale to gaze at the stars through Ginny’s father’s rusty old brass telescope.  
She walked into the room and sat gingerly beside Ginny’s bed. Her space in the room was distinguished by posters of the Weird Sisters, a wizard rock band, and the all-female Quidditch team the Hollyhead Harpies.  
“Ginevra…what’s wrong?” Pandora asked.  
Ginny looked up. Ginny’s dark eyes met Dora’s grey ones, and held them. Ginny looked truly miserable, which was a jarring sight. She had always been a wild and merry girl, used to running barefoot in her house and the herb gardens around it, and being able to turn freely to her mother, father, or brother and ask or say anything she felt. Dora had craved and envied that kind of freedom-affection in the Malfoy house came only in the form of affirmation that she was fulfilling her aunt’s and uncle’s expectations, which only left Dora pursuing and craving their approval afresh. It was a never ceasing run on a wheel.  
“Dora…I don’t know who I am, anymore,” she said pitifully.  
“Budge up,” Dora said.  
Ginny smiled weakly, and sat up; Dora sat on her bed.  
“Everyone changes, Ginevra. And we all go through things that shake us up. Our lives change, we change, but things about us that are true still remain. If you hold onto those things, you’ll be all right,” Dora said.  
“What do you hold onto?” Ginny said.  
“I love to learn new things, and what I have learned has served me well. I have been able to keep up, here at Hogwarts, and that gives me hope. That I will continue to do well, and that even when things seemed dark, and I felt quite low, I was giving myself the skills I needed, after all,” Dora said.  
“Nothing I thought was true is the truth. My parents….” Ginny began, but looked down at her lap and her voice trickled to nothing.  
“Parents have their own pasts, their own lives, their own feelings about things. All our lives, I’ve watched Draco in a constant struggle to be the son that my uncle wants, but to be himself, too. Its impossible to live two lives at the same time. We can only live our own lives,” Pandora said.  
Ginny wiped her nose on her wrist and looked like a little girl as she did so. Dora felt for her-she’d had a hard year.  
“That’s pretty. Where did you get it?” Dora asked, stroking the sleeve of Ginny’s blue velvet cloak.  
“I wished for it, and a Faerie made it appear,” Ginny said.  
Pandora smiled. “See? You have very good fortune.”  
Ginny smiled back weakly.  
“Try to get some sleep,” Pandora said, sensing that Ginny had a lot to think about. She came back downstairs to the anxiously waiting eyes of Ron, Hermione, and Harry.  
“What’d Gin tell you?” Ron asked. “Was she with Shepherd?”  
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask. There’s a lot on her mind, to be sure,” Pandora said.  
“I haven’t seen her like that since the basilisk,” Harry said.  
Dora slipped her hand in his and looked into his green eyes. Harry was everything Gryffindor coven swore that it stood for: bravery, chivalry, loyalty. He was so concerned for the people he cared for, and Dora was buoyed to have him by her side.  
Hermione cleared her throat and looked down at their joined hands. Dora was confused, but then she heard whispers erupt from where Henrietta and Saskia were supposedly studying. When Dora glanced in their direction, they darted their gaze away quickly and guiltily.  
“Well, we’d better turn in! I know our Coven prioritized achievements in Astronomy, but I relish the opportunity to sleep a full night,” Somachandra said, gracefully hinting to Dora that it was time to go.  
“Agreed,” Dora said.  
She and Somachandra withdrew, but she knew the damage was done, and the next morning there would be talk about if she and Harry were quite so broken up after all. ‘Just a few more days,’ she reminded herself-after Tarleton Hall, after getting proof that there was a pro-Voldemort secret society at Hogwarts, she and Harry could go back to normal. 

The next morning began with breakfast, and then Potions class, a double class with Hufflepuff. Dora skated through Flamel’s lesson about Fortifying Draughts, having learned them in the Vale ages ago. When she looked at the old Alchemist, she couldn’t help but wonder where he had hidden the Philosopher’s Stone, and whether this was his true body before them, or a facsimile. As she and her friends walked to their next class, Herbology, she couldn’t help but be conscious of the whispers on either side of them, like snow.  
“They must be speculating about which pro-Quidditch teams are heatedly competing to offer me a contract,” Mordecai said dryly.  
Somachandra laughed, but Kashmira scowled at him for doing so, and Cressida said, “If you’re fishing for someone to reassure you that you’re not such a bad Seeker…”  
“Oh, I know I’m a poxy Seeker-but, we laugh lest we cry,” Mordecai said.  
“Do, stop. We both know who we’re talking about. I distinctly heard ‘Slytherin Slag’ in there. Catchy, isn’t it?” Dora said. It was her Potions class in the Vale, all over again. How do you fight gossip? It spreads on the wind like a disease carried by the first person to tell it, infectious malice.  
“You’re not a Slytherin. They’ve got brains, Slytherin, but they use it for greedy, avaricious, shallow ends. We, in Ravenclaw, use it to pierce the veil. To break barriers and push envelopes. To boldly go, where intellectual magical inquiry has not gone before!” Somachandra said enthusiastically.  
“Huzzah! Slytherins are like Ravenclaws if we were basic bitches!” Cressida said.  
“I think I’ve schemed enough for one lifetime-I’d rather pierce the veil with you lot,” Dora said. She’d been pretty crafty, figuring out how to escape her aunt and Snape and meet up with Harry, but this Manticore scheme was pushing her to the limit of her appetite for subterfuge and skullduggery.  
This earned her warm and encouraging smiles from her Ravenclaw friends, but the gossip continued all day, like a mutinously buzzing flock of insects in grass that followed her about all day. In Herbology, Professor Sprout paired them off with students of the opposite house, and Dora was pleased to get Neville, and they studied the dew tree. Its leaves secreted fresh, drinkable water.  
“They could use orchards of these in the Vale,” Dora said.  
Neville agreed, adding, “Yeah, Squib women have to walk miles to a spring or a neighbor’s well to get water for the day’s cooking and washing. Its why so many Squib girls can’t go to the village school, their mother’s need them at home to help out.”  
“That’s a travesty! If people like my uncle are going to charge these poor people rent, they should make it worth it: a well at every house, and free, compulsory education for everyone,” Dora said.  
“Hmm… ‘More wells, more schools’: sounds like a campaign slogan,” Neville said.  
“Oh, she’s moved on to Longbottom, then? What about Zabini?” she heard someone whisper.  
“I was reading in Sadie Tuppence that she…’ the other whisperer said, and then they dropped their voice.  
“Oy, Dora,” Neville said. “Don’t worry about it.”  
“That awful woman Sadie Tuppence wrote something about me!” Dora said.  
“Dora, trust me, its not important. People can say all sorts of things, but the amount of people saying it doesn’t make it true,” Neville said. “I know you’re not some kind of wild child heiress spending hundreds of Galleons on gowns dyed in powdered diamonds,” he added with a chuckled.  
“Thanks, Neville,” she said, loath to own that the bit about the diamond dyed dress was, at least, true.  
Part of her mind wanted to see the article everyone was talking about, the other part of her mind was trying to wrestle that part of her mind to the ground. She was so distracted at one point that she walked into a very annoyed Posy Larch, who was handing out flyers for Political Science Club. Dora was a weird mix of hurt and curious. She felt drawn to find out more about the things people were saying about her, but what she had overheard was bad enough…which just made her want to know more.  
“Guess who got their way?” Cressida sang smugly in her ear.  
“You, I’m sure, Cressie, but, about what?” Dora asked.  
“Vesta Applethwaite is doing my gown! Come to the village with me, round to her house, and I’m sure we’ll find a picture of Sarah. Then, when we stake out the Dionysium theater, we’ll know her face,” Cressida said.  
“‘Stake out’?” Dora said.  
“Oh, yes, that’s what they say in Muggle cop movies. Casing the perimeter, all that, you know,” Cressida said.  
“You’re really taking to all this!” Dora laughed.  
“Well, maybe Gryffindors know how to live, after all. Solving mysteries like this is quite thrilling. I wonder what we’ll find out at Tarleton Hall!” Cressida said.  
“Shh, Cressie! We’re meeting Harry, Ron, Neville, and Hermione to discuss the game plan tonight, in the dungeons, remember? I’ve got Botany Club, so has Neville, and Harry’s got Quidditch practice, so it’ll have to be after hours, regrettably,” Pandora said.  
Cressie’s big smile betrayed that she didn’t think it was regrettable, at all, to sneak around the castle after hours.  
They were hardly the only students spending their lunch hour in the village. The lockdown of the day before seemed not to have left most of the village and the student body with any lingering trepidation, but, Dora reflected, nor did the Faeries being run out of town. Dora was, for a keen moment, galled by wizards’ ability to ignore the danger of dark magic practicing bigots so long as they only threatened beings that they already deemed inferior. Students in their Coven House scarves and ties roamed the streets, pouring in and out of the pubs, boating on and strolling by the calm river under the stone bridge. Every time Dora looked at it, she remembered the first time she had walked there with Harry. She had felt so excited and curious, but also at ease in his presence. She was sure she was always meant to know him.  
She and Cressida left the High Street and found themselves on a residential side street of small cottages with neat lawns. Birds sang, and the wind ruffled flower baskets and rose bushes. Cressida knocked on the door, and Vesta answered. She smiled, and said, “Miss Black! Miss Beverley! Come in. Madam Arklow said you wanted a rush on your Liberalia dress.”  
Cressida smiled, and said, “Actually, Madam Applethwaite, we need to talk to you a bit more about Sarah.”  
Her bright professional smile drained to a woman’s misery, a mother’s worry. She looked older, and more human.  
“Come in,” Vesta said.  
She showed Dora and Cressida into the front sitting room of her house, which, much like Madam Arklow’s shop, was covered in swatches of fabric and other evidence of her trade.  
“Don’t worry, I’ll clear a place for you,” Vesta said, moving things about and uncovering a prim, humble room with simple but elegant couches with lace doilies, floral wallpaper, and a fireplace whose mantle was decorated with rather generic but charming porcelain figurines of nymphs at play.  
Cressida and Pandora, both shamed at her haste to tidy up the room by hand, when any witch could have righted the room with a flick of her wand or would have summoned an elf. Vesta lived simply she did not have their gifts.  
“There, now. Would you girls like tea?” Vesta said.  
“Yes, that would be lovely-but, would you allow me to make it? I mean, could you show me how?” Cressida said.  
Vesta laughed incredulously. “Whatever for, Miss?!” she said.  
Dora was looking at her friend in mystification, too.  
“The Muggle Studies unit on kitchen appliances? I’d like to get a leg up!” Cressida said.  
“We aren’t Muggles, here, Miss, sorry to disappoint you,” Vesta said, in a tone that was not quite sharp but certainly not warm.  
The laughter that was beginning on Pandora’s lips died, and she and Cressida cast uncomfortable looks back and forth.  
“Yes, Ma’am, I mean, no, ma’am. I only meant that…I like to learn how to do things for myself. Magic makes it all too easy, sometimes,” Cressida said.  
“You’re lucky to have magic. I wish my Sarah’d had, but I suppose there was no chance of it. No one in the family’s been a witch since my Gran’s mother-my great great grandmother. Her name was Sarah, too. I suppose I named her that because I hoped…it would have been better. I think it bothered her more than I realized…looking at the castle in the distance, seeing the students on the streets,” Vesta said.  
Recognition leapt in Dora’s belly. She’d felt that way when she first came to Hogsmeade, that pang of envy as she watched the students, so talented and free, while she ate dinner with her morose and increasingly possessive tutor.  
“So, Sarah wanted to learn magic?” Pandora said. Talking about Sarah seemed to be distracting her from letting her annoyance at Cressida evolve into true offense.  
Vesta nodded her head vehemently. “More than anything. I didn’t understand that, at first. We think, when we’re raising a growing girl, that all their trouble will come from the lads. But even when they are running towards ‘em, I think…they’re seeking something else.”  
Pandora understood. Maurice Buttershaw wasn’t the sort of man to inspire raptures in a girl, a veritable akrasia of mad passion-but Anthea had vociferously fought and then ran away forever to marry him. It was what he was offering her, an escape from her father’s house, and what he represented, respectability and comfort that seemed easier and warmer to live in than the formidable reputation and strict standards of the Malfoys, that Anthea had been fighting for and running towards. As for Dora, she knew in her heart that she had accepted that her only way out was to eventually marry Severus. Would she have lived at the castle with him, not as a student but as a young wife, amusing herself somehow while he taught? Or, maybe her fortune would have financed a laboratory for whatever Alchemy pursuits he’d never had the money or time for, before, or an apothecary’s shop where they mixed potions for villagers’ rheumatism and agues.  
Either way, Vesta was quite right-sometimes girls see men as a way out or a key to a door. It was different with Harry-he wasn’t her way out; she had met him on the way to her future.  
Cressida, after tripping on her feet in rambunctious enthusiasm, now looked mollified and timid, as she said, “She never evinced any interest in…entertaintment? The theater?”  
“I beg your pardon!” Vesta said. Her neck flattened into her chin and her lips pursed. Cressida shrank.  
“What Miss Beverley means is…that’s what we wanted to discuss with you: we spoke to a seamstress called Bliss-do you know her?” Pandora stepped in.  
“Yes, of course. Bliss Lipscomb. Good family,” Vesta confirmed.  
“According to Bliss, Sarah went to a theater in Londinium to be a performer, in a new show being launched by Eglantine Stanley at a theater called the Dionysium,” Pandora said. “Was she a great fan of Miss Stanley’s? Was she fond of music?”  
“The Dionysium….I feel like I have heard of that….no, no, Sarah wasn’t musical. Gran didn’t like her singing, and…she can be a critical woman. I see that now. Come with me, I want to take a look at something,” Vesta said.  
They followed her to Sarah’s room. It was humbly but neatly decorated, like the sitting room. There was a cherrywood music box on a wooden vanity, a bed spread with a floral quilt, and, to Dora’s excitement, a framed picture of a group of young girls in white dresses and crowns of white roses, probably on Beltane. One of them must be Sarah!  
“Is one of the girls in that photo Sarah?” Cressida asked.  
She hesitated, not wanting to talk to her very much, obviously, but eventually Vesta said, “The tallest, with the dark hair, that has a bit of red in it in the light.”  
Dora picked up the picture, and her eyes flew to the girl of that description. She was a beauty, a serious looking beauty, like a prophetess in a painting of a classical myth, about to speak an omen. Or, maybe the fact that she was missing gave her appearance a gravity. Women and girls, when alive, are so often vilified, dismissed, or molded into something other than they are to please the world; in death, they take on an earthy perfection, an impregnably great and terrible beauty like Artemis bathing in her forest glade. They can no longer be changed, they can only be witnessed in reverence, if one can stand the fire of the divine. A lost girl was like a demi-goddess.  
This was wrong, Dora felt, like so much of the way people treated and thought of women. If more people listened to women and girls when they were living, warm with voices, hopes and dreams, instead of shooing them away, shouting at them, destroying them with lies or shouting at them and shattering their confidence, maybe they would never get lost in the first place. The symbols they became once it was too late were haloed with the guilt of a world that hadn’t cared for them. What if it could be different, and the world could care for its girls and nurture them to grow strong?  
“What is this? Did Sarah write this?” Cressida said, and Dora and Vesta both looked at her and the piece of parchment in her hand. Cressida read,  
“The self is a lonely island, set adrift in a turbulent ocean, held by no rocks”, and then she observed, “but the rest is all crossed out. There were several lines, but the poet was not pleased with their work, not at all. I used to write poetry, too…but I was too hard on myself, just like that.”  
“Sarah liked poetry…” Vesta said, but Dora couldn’t tell if she was telling them or asking them, surprised at this revelation herself.  
Dora went to Sarah’s bookshelf, and was not surprised to see Gordon Manfred’s one volume of poetry, on which his fashionable reputation rested, and was founded. She flipped through its pages and, like her mother’s alchemy book, found it scribbled in the margins. Sarah’s scrawling and quickly jotted cursive was just as indecipherable to the nakedly perusing eye as Ada’s alchemical runes, and maybe it was alchemy of its own: a soul being transformed by art, like a metal in the glass heart of an alembic.  
“Pandy, look!” Cressida said, and from under Sarah’s bed she pulled a collection of magazines and clipped newspaper articles going brown and stiff. All of them seemed to have something to do with Gordon Manfred, and the chronology of the public and press’s estimation of him could be charted: raptures at the young talent, speculation about everything from the inspirations of his poetry to what he ate for breakfast, and then salacious innuendo about his personal life. It walked the knife’s edge of slander, but still had a breathy tone-these articles were written by and for people who traded on the secrets of others, the more scandalous the better, and moral outrage was just a disguise for the wish that they had witnessed the excitement themselves.  
“Manfred advocated teaching magic to people who couldn’t otherwise perform it. His talk about founding theosophical sort of societies and giving demonstrations to Muggles was extreme-perhaps he meant it, perhaps it was flippant-but, I think even if he said it in a flippant spirit, there’s a tell in there: he’s been teaching magic to Squibs,” Pandora said. “or, telling them that he can. He’s directing a show at the Dionysium…that’s where Sarah went…Sarah, who wants to learn magic, and so loves his poetry…Eastling must have been the conduit! The catalyst! He seduced her, or tried to, using Manfred, and to keep impressing him he must have told her about the Dionysium. Or, she wheedled it out of him.”  
“But, the things these articles say he is doing out there…orgies, and sexual rituals from ancient pagan mysteries. That can’t be believed!” Cressida said.  
“Why ever not? Many times, powerful men hide their vices behind the collective notion that rumors attributed to them could not be true. And, even if this gossip isn’t entirely factual, it may be a distortion of the truth, something heard but not in its entirety, or guessed at without the aid of tangible evidence,” Pandora said.  
“You run on too fast, Miss Black. What is it you’re saying, that Sarah has joined some sort of…cult? Led by this poet, Manfred? That he lies to Squib girls, saying that he can give or teach them magic, but uses them for his own pleasure?” Vesta said breathlessly.  
Pandora felt the gravity of the bond between a mother and daughter. Though she didn’t always understand her, the idea of Sarah being hurt was her greatest fear, it was clutching her hear in a fist.  
“Yes, Ma’am. I think Manfred has unorthodox beliefs about magic. I think he likes holding sway over others. I think there must be many girls in the same situation as Sarah, at the Dionysium, under his thrall,” Pandora said.  
“What shall you do? Shall I tell the provincial Aurors? They’ll think I’m mad, a poor woman with a sluttish daughter, clutching articles from tabloids! We are just Squibs…and we don’t exist in the world of Muggles, they have nothing to do with us….we are no one,” Vesta said. “We have no one.”  
“You have us!” Cressida said, and Vesta looked at her with renewed goodwill.  
Once again, Dora looked at Cressida, wishing she hadn’t spoken. She wasn’t sure what Cressida had promised, what they would do to get Sarah back.  
Vesta needed something to do to right her nerves and served their tea. They chatted about the prospect of the upcoming Beltane celebration featuring a play by vagrant actors, all agreeing that would be a charming feature of the festivities. Vesta’s agreements came too readily and loudly, and her voice was shaky, her eyes glittered with a mad light. She was terrified, beneath her valiant cordiality. But, still, she gave them tea and scones with raspberry jam, on a nice tray. As they left, Pandora hugged her, and said,  
“We’ll find her. We’ll talk to her, and tell her that you understand now, and you want to talk to her,” Dora said.  
Vesta wept, and Dora held her eyes, not wanting to leave her or break their gaze, until Cressida stopped at the end of the lane to wait for her, and Vesta waved Dora away.  
“It’s obvious, now, what we must do, at Tarleton!” Cressida said  
“It is?” Pandora said, as they walked to the town square, where the Hogwarts students waited for the carriages by the Coventina fountain.  
“Yes! We must express raptures of adoration for the verses of Manfred, and get the boys to recommend us to the Dionysium, and confess that they’ve been…” Cressida searched for the word, and Dora borrowed a phrase Harry had used as they, Ron, and Hermione hashed out the earlier stages of the Manticore plan.  
“Selling women like dragon eggs, to this mad poet?” Dora suggested.  
“Quite the turn of phrase, Dora,” Cressida said. “I’m horrified at myself. Madam Applethwaite was so offended! I didn’t mean to sound as if I thought her way of life was…quaint, or something, or that I didn’t know the difference between a Squib and a Muggle.”  
“Sometimes when we are afraid of saying the wrong thing, we do just that. Don’t get nervous around people whose lives are different, because their needs are the same as anyone: kindness, understanding,” Dora said.  
Cressida looked relieved and grateful, and hugged Dora around her shoulders as they picked a carriage and walked towards it.  



	78. Chapter 78

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny keeps secrets from Roger and Harry, but confides in Ptolemy; Harry accepts a task from Dumbledore; the Dream Team meet up in the dungeons to discuss the Manticore plot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today is the four month anniversary of 'The Alchemist's Daughter'! Thank you all for your feedback, in the form of kudos, comments, bookmarks, subscriptions, and, most importantly, reads! I am glad you are reading this story, and I hope it makes you happy. Stay safe and healthy:)

“OWWWWW!” Gianna cried.  
Harry watched the sight in horror: first, she and another Chaser, Demelza, collided, and then Gianna was knocked from her broom, a Blazing Bullet painted Gryffindor red, and skidded on the grass. Harry streaked over on his own Firebolt, blowing the captain’s whistle to signify a halt to all training.  
“GiGi, you okay?” He asked, leaping off her broom, and standing on his knees in the grass beside her.  
“It’s my damned ankle!” Gianna said, clutching the injury.  
“Hospital wing, this instant,” Harry said.  
She attempted to stand, and he said, “No way! Don’t make me Levicorpus you, Strike.”  
Gianna laughed, and seemed grateful for the distraction from her pain.  
“Come at me, Potter,” she said, with fire in her eyes. Ron and one of the Beaters slipped their arms under her shoulders and helped her walk back to the castle.  
“Gather round, you lot!” Harry called, when Gigi and the boys helping her were out of sight. The rest of his team gathered in a circle around him. “Hufflepuff vs. Slytherin is this Saturday. Whoever wins that one will be facing us. Whoever it is, we’ve gotta be ready. Gigi’s out, but we’ve got some great talent on the alternate’s list, any one of those names is ready to step up. We’re ready for anything-we’re Gryffindor!”  
“GRYFFINDOR!” they all responded, in a loud, single word chant, from deep in their bellies. Harry smiled, encouraged by their ardor. He glanced at the stands, and saw a distinctive mane of fiery, deep red hair. “All right, take a water break, everyone.”  
He jogged up the steps between seats in the stands, to where Ginny was watching practice. He was relieved to see that she was alone this time.

Ginny felt like she was a fawn caught in the crosshairs of a hunter. She couldn’t stay away from the Gryffindor team practice. The Quidditch season was nearly over; it was followed by Cricket, which was surprisingly popular amongst wizards, as well as Bumps, a crew rowing activity held in the Hogmire River that wound through the village.  
Hufflepuff played Slytherin, and that wily third year Gavin “Deadly” Nightshade out of Slytherin was sure to flatten them with a deft catch of the Snitch. That would pit Slytherin against Gryffindor for the final game of the year, and with the Covens at odds and tense again, that match would be fraught. But, Harry was the last person she wanted to see. Harry…whom she had fancied. Harry, who was her brother! She was sick, she felt muddy with shame. Shouldn’t she have known, been able to feel, that he was off limits, forbidden? She didn’t have those feelings anymore, but she did, fascinated by the news story of the green-eyed orphan boy who had survived the Phoenix Consurgens massacre, and after he saved her from the basilisk in the Fens at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.  
As much as she told herself that Snape was mad, or lying, neither fit. People lie to get what they want, and she had nothing. As for madness, he had many well-known faults, but he had seemed as calm and careful of his words as when he was explaining a Potion as he told her of his love for her mother, Lily, of her birth, and abandoning her with the family she knew as hers’ for her own good.  
“Gin!” Harry said, not noticing her discomfort. “I’ve got a question for you.”  
“Um, I was just leaving, I have to get to the library,” Ginny said.  
“Wait! Are you ready to get back on your broom? Before I asked any of the other alternates, I wanted to talk to you first,” Harry said.  
“Is Gianna all right?” Ginny asked.  
“She will be, I think, but she needs a bit of time. She’s young, and I don’t want her to get used to that ‘play through the pain’ mentality,” Harry said.  
“You’re a good captain, Harry,” she said.  
Harry smiled. “Thanks. So, if you want to play Chaser, I’d love to have you back.”  
Ginny looked over her shoulder. Roger was walking towards them.  
“I’ll think about it, Harry. I have to go,” she said, looking from her brother to her boyfriend. She had secrets from them both, and the words were hiding in the corners of her soul, not ready to be said just yet. 

Harry watched Ginny walk off with Roger Shepherd. His hackles rose, he wanted to follow them, to stop Ginny. Something had happened in Londinium, the day before. She had disappeared in the middle of the day and come back looking as if she had stood on a cliff, watching a shipwreck. His hatred of Shepherd surpassed wanting to see his obnoxiousness shown up in debate-he was malignant, Harry wanted him gone from Ginny’s life, confusing her and sapping her vitality.  
As Ginny and Roger departed, Ron returned. He cast a long glance at his sister, paralyzed with concern until the waving flag of her red hair was out of sight. Only when Ginny was no longer visible did he say to Harry,  
“Dumbledore wants to see you, mate.”  
Harry found that he had been expecting it. “Gotta call time on practice, first,” Harry said.  
“You’re going to keep the greatest wizard of the age waiting for Quidditch?” Ron said, incredulously. “I’ll tell that lot they ain’t gotta go home but they gotta get the Hell off the field-you go do you, mate.”  
Harry smiled. He felt so warm and grateful, so relieved, so much less alone than when he was running from the demonically summoned creatures at the arena at Drakenberg, than when he was in the Appomattox River speaking to Tiamat, desperate for her to let Ariel go, when he was an 11 year old boy and he found out that he was a wizard, but when he arrived at school and found out that he was not the ‘right’ sort of wizard, like Draco….Harry felt elated, like when he found the Sword of Gryffindor in the marshy water, and had hope that he would be able to rescue Ginny. Ron was his shining sword in the water. They hugged, and then Harry went on his way to the castle.  
Harry knocked on the door of Dumbledore’s office, and it was answered by Professor Flamel. The new Potions and Alchemy professor, a formidable figure with his dark robes and grey hair, was also wearing a quixotic smile.  
“Ah, Mr. Potter! I thoroughly enjoyed your essay on the healing properties of the Orphanay egg. Inspired,” Flamel said.  
“I…heard of them when I first came to Hogwarts. It’s called the Orphan Bird. That stood out to me,” Harry said.  
He waited for the awkwardness to fill the space between them like a roof’s leak filling a bucket, but Flamel did not shuffle his face and gaze trying to look properly sympathetic. He looked into Harry’s eyes, held them, and nodded. Harry felt seen, and the germinating seeds of trust for Flamel. This was the man who had helped to save Dora’s life, who had defied his order and then went into hiding to do so. Harry hoped that he was as good as he seemed, especially since he was now the guardian of the Lapis.  
Flamel stepped away from the door, and took a place standing behind Dumbledore’s desk, beside the window. Dumbledore sat behind his desk, wearing a familiar silver robe and pointed, star spangled hat, as well as a calm smile.  
“Harry,” Dumbledore said, “I hope this doesn’t lessen your faith in my abilities, but I find myself in need of your aid.”  
“Mine, sir?” Harry said.  
Dumbledore had a characteristic twinkle in his eye and slight, mysterious smile, but Harry erred on the side of assuming that he was serious. But, what could he do to help the Headmaster and Mayor of the Castle of Hogwarts?  
“Yes,” Dumbledore said. “Well, in fact I have the privilege of asking on behalf of Hogwarts. It is she that needs your help.”  
“Of course. Anything,” Harry said.  
Finding out that he was a wizard, and destined for the wizards’ school, had given him a life besides the criminality, isolation, and dim prospects of the Dursleys’ orphanage, where he had learned nothing but thieving, hunger, and fear. He loved Hogwarts. Though it housed dangers and bullies, though it had been the scene of hurts and terrors, it was as familiar and loving as a parent’s embrace, and he forgave all.  
“I am relieved, and humble, to hear you say so,” Dumbledore said. “Your family home, Orchard’s Grange, is a nucleus of Faerie magic. Along with the Goblin Market, when we were blessed with its presence, and the forest and menagerie here at the castle, it has long been a sanctum for Faeries and their magic. Now, many wizards believe that it is the presence of faeries and fantastic creatures that grant wizards their powers.”  
Harry recalled that Dora had said something to that effect in the Gryffindor Common Room earlier that day, to be met with skepticism by Hermione.  
Dumbledore continued, “The truth is, I believe, far more nuanced. Thinking that we imbibe our magic from faeries and creatures has led to the unfortunate conquest and seizing of Faerie lands, the rape of Faerie women to sire magical children, and the enslavement of magical beings like house elves to yoke their abilities to the will of wizards. What waste, what misguided savagery, all based on a fallacy. I think that all of us-wizards, the Faerie, and nonhuman magical creatures- are connected, and when we live in peace, magic itself is in balance.”  
‘You don’t understand the full scope of magic…all that must happen for the universe to be balanced,’ Voldemort had said, standing with the Uffington White Horse and Castle Arianrhod behind him. Harry batted away the memory.  
“Balance,” Harry said.  
“Yes,” Dumbledore said. “Only in balance can we act with purpose, freedom, and love. Now, the compact between your ancestors, Harry, and the Faeries is such that the Potters may have their home on Faerie land, and be protected by the Faer, if they also protect the Faeries who live there. Your forebears promised to be stewards of the earth, caretakers, in the spirit of love and respect.”  
“I’m…humbled, Sir. I try to do the right thing, by everyone, if I can. It feels good to know that my ancestors promised to do the same thing,” Harry said.  
Dumbledore smiled, and shared a glance and a smile with Flamel, as if Harry’s words had confirmed their best expectations of him. It was certainly a novelty to Harry, to have a Potions Master proud of him. He couldn’t look at Flamel’s robes and, without effort, not think of Snape. But, he was trying to get his head in the game for Tarleton Hall, and the next Quidditch match, which he had a keen feeling would be against Slytherin and the impressive young Nightshade. Harry remembered what it was like to be a young phenom, to feel and be spoken of as invincible, the power that gave his mind, his own glory in his abilities. High off that heady bubble of adulation, Nightshade was bound to be a beast. Harry knew it might be silly, to try to stave off thoughts of his mother’s murder with a sport…but, that was what he had at his disposal.  
“Very well spoken, my boy,” Dumbledore said. “Now that you are the indisputable heir of Orchard Grange, being the only bearer of the Potter name, and the last of the patrilineal family line, the compact between the Faeries and your family must be renewed with the King and Queen of the Faery.”  
“They go by many names: Oberon, and Titania, Fauna, and Faunus, Pomona, and Vertumnus,” Flamel said.  
“Oh…what should I call them, Sir?” Harry asked.  
“Good Sir and Gentle Lady should suffice,” Dumbledore said.  
“Are they coming here?” Harry asked.  
“You shall go to them, actually. On the grounds of Orchard Grange, there is a Labyrinth,” Dumbledore said. “I implore you to find it, and venture into its heart. Our Good Sir and Gentle Lady will know your blood and meet you at its heart. When you meet them, say, ‘Well met’, and they will know that you come in peace.”  
Harry felt the gravity of the request on his heart and nodded. A labyrinth…a Faerie bargain…But, he thought of all those names written in gold on the leaves of the family tree at Orchard Grange. He would not fail them! He would not be the Potter who lost the Faeries’ blessing! This is what it meant, not to be an orphan-to have a name, to have traditions to guide him, and people to protect and make proud. The other Potters were gone-but knowing that they wanted to protect others guided his own instincts to do so, gave him continuity to take courage from.  
“How shall I find the Labyrinth, Sir?” Harry asked.  
“Your father’s family, like many wizarding families, kept certain records and heirloom objects stored in the care of an accounting firm and genealogy agency called Gringott’s. It is also a bank, of sorts. You will find the map to the Labyrinth stored there,” Dumbledore said. “Your father had no need of the map in his time as Heir, because the compact had no need of the kind of renewal that I ask of you, now.”  
“Sir?” Harry asked.  
“I ask that you request of Our Good Sir and Gentle Lady that they protect not only the Potter estate, but also the grounds, students, and teachers of Hogwarts, as well as the village of Hogsmeade,” Dumbledore said.  
“They may very well refuse you. Faeries act from a sense of justice and awareness of time quite distinct from ours’, and though different it must be respected,” Flamel said.  
“But, try if you can. The secret to Faerie negotiation is that all one must do is ask. They cannot be cajoled or swayed, tricked or seduced, because they repel dishonesty,” Dumbledore said.  
At the orphanage, he often heard the phrase, ‘Don’t ask, don’t get.’ No one relished approaching the Dursleys for things like fresh underwear or soap, but how else were they to acquire them? Though they were compelled to steal wallets, taking things from shops was forbidden-the likelihood of getting caught by security or picked up on camera was too great, and the orphanage operated with strict Bolshevism: the orphans were believed to be liable to descend into mutiny against each other at the knowledge of a difference in the quality of their goods and possessions.  
“Well, I can ask,” Harry said, as he would if one of his old compatriots had told him to go up and ask for shoes.  
“Very, very good, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “Now, if I may ask…how are your extracurricular lessons with Professor Fortune getting on?”  
“Brilliant, Sir! Professor Fortune’s amazing, so is Natalie. I mean, Ms. Hastings,” Harry said.  
“Ah, Fortune’s apprentice is a most talented young woman. She reminds me greatly of Pandora’s mother,” Flamel said, smiling at the memory of his favorite student.  
“Professor Fortune briefed me on what occurred last night. You and he banished a Primordial?” Dumbledore said.  
“He said that I have an ability called…Dragon Sense,” Harry said. “Am I like you, Sir? I saw you ride a dragon, yesterday, to the menagerie.”  
“I acquired my ability through an alchemical experiment. Yours’ is inherited,” Dumbledore said.  
“From Melusina,” Harry said.  
“Ah…so, your jaunt to Wiltshire was productive, I see. I regret you were not able to see Stone Henge. Another time-I daresay it isn’t going anywhere,” Dumbledore said.  
Harry didn’t know how Dumbledore could have known about the White Horse, Dragon Hill, and Castle Arianrhod. He was too stunned to speak. Perhaps Sirius and Remus had told him…but, Harry hadn’t even told them about King Edward V and Richard of Shrewsbury, seeing his grandfather, and the Hall of Heroes.  
“Professor Fortune thinks Voldemort wants to steal my dragon sense,” Harry said. “Is that why he let me live? Do you think that he spared me, in a way, when I was a baby, so that he could kill me later? Why did all those other little boys have to die?”  
“Harry,” Dumbledore said calmingly, “You’re losing your balance.”  
Harry took a deep breath, and then exhaled. Dumbledore looked into his eyes, patiently lulling him back to calm.  
“The Dark Lord sees your destinies as connected,” Dumbledore said. “But his mind, though obsessive, is changeable. That does not mean that his decisions set your course. It is the illusion that the erratic, volatile, aggressive, and petulantly domineering trade on, that their whims and temperamental strikes are a cudgel they successfully wield over others. They think if they cannot be anticipated, they can neither be preempted. But, they seldom realize that though their strikes come at random, they have a predicable character. They may be changeable, but they vacillate between probabilities, and from these we may read their obsessions and fears.”  
“Fears? Voldemort has hundreds of people killed at a time, and people willing to hurt others out of loyalty to him-what’s he got to be afraid of?” Harry said.  
“Do I detect envy? Do you wish you had such a corps of supplicants at your command?” Dumbledore said.  
“What? No!” Harry said, indignantly, before he could stop himself from being sharp. He remembered the phalanxes of hooded and masked Death Eaters, and shuddered at the idea of commanding such a force.  
“Don’t mistake Voldemort’s numbers for loyal supporters. They follow him out of avarice and fear. They are afraid of his perceived power, or afraid of losing their own to those they have oppressed. They fear the uprising of those they know they have hurt, and wish to consolidate the forces to put them down,” Dumbledore said. “what you wish for is not an army, but to be safe-and in that, there is no shame.”  
“Thank you, Sir,” Harry said. It was babyish, wasn’t it, to want to be safe? Harry knew he had to face things head on.  
“The compact will be renewed on the First of May,” Dumbledore said. “That is when you shall undertake the quest for the labyrinth. I leave the date of your trip to Gringott’s up to you, Sirius, and Dr. Lupin, between now and then. Now, I fear that in your haste to come here directly from Quidditch practice, you have not had your customary shower. I shall detain you no longer.”  
Before he could stop himself, like many a schoolboy athlete before him, Harry sniffed his pits to see if he smelled sweaty. It felt like Dumbledore was hinting…When he looked at his Headmaster, Dumbledore was smiling bemusedly, and there was laughter in his eyes. 

Harry had a shower, trying not to think of the Succubi that had attacked him there. He was trying his best to practice Fortune’s shields in small, spare moments, and hoped that was why he had thought less of killing Snape, and had not heard any whispers from Voldemort. The hot water fell on his thin body, and Harry surrendered to it, and thoughts of Pandora, and the island in the river. He thought apart of him must have been left, like the energy remnants Fortune and Willoughby had told them about, a shade of his intense emotions peeled away and echoing there, in that obscure spot in an American forest, forever.  
He got dressed and joined his House for dinner, but stole quick but intense glances at Pandora, meeting her eyes in glimpses as darting as a hummingbird’s flight, as he ate roast and mashed potatoes.  
“Why are you torturing yourself, mate?” Seamus said. Dean’s liquid dark eyes gave him a warning look.  
Harry just shook his head and shrugged. This cover was getting old.  
“Leave it off, Seamus,” Neville said.  
“’Course you’d say so,” Seamus said darkly.  
“Pandora seems to have a pattern: boys with money and no parents,” Lavender said.  
“She’s not like that! And what about your pattern?” Daisy Spriggs said.  
“Which is what, pray tell?” Lavender said, in her grating Vale accent, which seemed to be causing Dean physical pain.  
“Changing your whole personality based on who you’re dating,” Daisy said.  
Lavender’s heart shaped face swelled, her lips pursed, and she made a throaty noise of displeasure behind her teeth. She tore viciously into her roast, wielding her fork like a deadly weapon against her defenseless dinner.  
“It’s understandable if you still like Pandora. She seemed down in Botany Club tonight. She knows loads about growing Lashing Lillies, but she didn’t even raise her hand to answer Sprout’s questions! I haven’t known her long, but I could tell she was holding back. I’d bet you anything, she wants to get back together, too,” Daisy said. “I think she was thinking about you.”  
Harry appreciated that. Daisy was not a big talker, so she must really feel that something needed to be said. Her best friend, Freddie, was silent but in an attitude of agreement. He regretted being dishonest-he and Dora were, in fact, already back together-but, he was grateful that not all of the students in his House read Sadie Tuppence without a grain of salt.  
“Thanks, Daisy,” Harry said.  
After dinner, he, Ron, and Hermione studied. Ginny did not come down to sit by the fire, talk, or play chess, which was unusual. She and her roommate, Henrietta, were not particularly close, and Harry gathered they were even less so, after Ginny’s fib about her, so he couldn’t imagine her up in her room engaging in ‘girl talk’ with her. He hoped that she was all right.

“Ptolemy!” Ginny hissed, and in the tangle of students from all four houses pouring out of the Great Hall after dinner, Ptolemy turned and saw her.  
Why, indeed, had she held onto that Floralia article, with Ginny’s picture, for so long? She knew Fortune was only teasing…but, she had been burning with discomfort ever since their talk. At 14, Ptolemy saw herself as quite capable of handling whatever came her way, but no one seemed to have confidence in her. Dora did not really confide in her, nor had Draco, and Ginny…she had made it clear since they were young that she wanted to be amongst the older girls and the boys, not thrown in with Baby Lucy. But, that seemed to have changed, and Ptolemy forgave all. She and Ginny had a secret, a mystery, the Case of Lily Potter’s Picture, like Harry and Dora had their intrigues.  
Ptolemy followed Ginny’s waving, fiery hair down a corridor, to a wooden bench beneath a staircase. Ginny sat down, smoothing out her pleated gray school skirt and looking around for prying eyes.  
“I went to Londinium today,” Ginny began.  
“Oh? My mother’s family is from there,” Ptolemy said.  
Narcissa often bemoaned life ‘buried’ in the country, where if one wanted any amusement one had to throw a fete or wait for a neighbor to do it. She had grown up in the never ending hustle and bustle of the wizards’ city, with its operas, balls, dinners, plays, and scandals that bloomed like invasive vines and then withered as quickly: scandalous affairs and ruined wives, vendettas and duels, fortunes lost in personal debts and gaming, bastard scions of great houses appearing in society seeking fortunes and grinding axes, and always a new Dark Lord catching the attention of the city’s rebellious and decadent. There had been many: Smaragdus, Malvolio, Blackthorn, Ravenscar, all with their armies and their agendas, all defeated or disappeared, until Tom Riddle, who just wouldn’t seem to stay gone, and who had broken the balance in a way that had never righted itself yet.  
“Funny that you say so-I think that I just came from your mother’s childhood home, in Grimmauld Place,” Ginny said.  
“Whatever were you doing there, Ginevra?” Ptolemy asked.  
She told Ginny about Manfred, Roger Shepherd, and running into Draco. Ptolemy couldn’t help but interrupt at the mention of her brother. All day, she had to fight the tension in her forehead and the knot in her stomach that meant the constant fear for her brother’s life was breaking though her resolve not to feel it. As for her father…she wasn’t sure if he deserved her fear for him. What had he done in the name of this Dark Lord? Whom had he hurt besides his wife and children?  
“Was he all right? Did he look healthy?” Ptolemy said eagerly.  
“He was dressed as a lady, and he says that’s the real him. Every other time, he’s wearing a mask,” Ginny said.  
Ptolemy knew that. From what she recalled, her mother used to get a kick out of seeing Draco done up as a girl, powdered and perfumed, and treated it, and his resemblance to her, as a silly game, a thing of amusement. But, Draco had carried on in secret, and it was no game.  
“He gave me an Alkonost’s feather, which would carry me anywhere I wished. But the only place that I wished to be was with my father,” Ginny said.  
Poor, dear girl, Ptolemy thought. All the village had looked on Mr. Weasley as a steady, goodhearted man, but he doted on Ginny and she adored him. Ptolemy had watched him fall, from the folly tower he and the other carpenters were remodeling. Without thinking of doing otherwise, Ptolemy put her hand on Ginny’s in comfort. She did not shake it off, or otherwise remove it.  
“So, the feather felt my true wish. It took me to the house in Grimmauld Place. I was in the attic, and Professor Snape found me. He wasn’t surprised. He thought that I had come to Londinium to find him, and ask him questions. I played along, and he began to tell me a story,” Ginny said.  
“Very cunning. Actually, that was pretty Slytherin for a Gryffindor,” Ptolemy teased.  
“Gryffindors are cunning, too, just not malicious,” Ginny countered.  
“Well, as you say, then,” Ptolemy said with mock skepticism.  
Ginny smirked, and gave a wary little shake of her head. It was clear that she had more to say but wasn’t going to prolong the debate. Ptolemy felt full of heady warmth at Ginny’s display of humor.  
“In any case,” Ginny resumed, “I was so confused, at first. He was telling this story about being friends with my mother when they were kids, but I knew that couldn’t be possible. As he kept on, it became clear that he meant Harry’s mother, Lily Evans Potter. I thought he was mad…he said that she ran, after Mr. Potter died, ran to him, to Snape, and they…”  
“Got friendly?” Ptolemy suggested, but Ginny shuddered.  
“Sure, let’s put it that way. Got friendly, some time after…and had a daughter. Rose. But your dad, Lucy, saw the baby’s cradle through the window when he was on a horseback ride, and asked Snape about it. He said he had a Squib whore, and a bastard child, and smoothed it all over. But, Lily didn’t trust that a lie like that would keep Harry safe from the Death Eaters forever, so she took him and Rose and ran to America,” Ginny said.  
“What went wrong?” Ptolemy said.  
“He followed her. Snape properly defected from Voldemort and chased after Lily and her two kids. But, the Death Eaters were chasing after him,” Ginny said. “He says he didn’t know that part, that he just wanted to be back with Lily and her kids.”  
Ptolemy reserved comment. Snape had been her mother’s physician, Dora’s tutor, and her father’s friend. She knew his face well, but didn’t feel she knew the man, at all.  
Ginny sighed. Her posture wasn’t graceful. She slouched, and like many slouchers falsely believed it to be more comfortable. She sank into her round shoulders and looked down at her mary janes.  
“He says they knocked him out, killed Lily, took Harry…but they left Rose behind. He said he didn’t want to raise her with a Death Eater for a father, with people shaming her for it, and him not being able to get work…so he left her…me…he left Rose on my family’s doorstep,” Ginny said.  
“Do you believe this?” Ptolemy said.  
Ginny was pale, and trembling while still all at the same time.  
“I don’t know!” Ginny said. “He’s mad…or mistaken…he may have a daughter called Rose, Lily Potter may have been her mother…but how could it have been me? I know who my parents are! I’m a Weasley. I’ve got red hair! Everyone knows we’ve all got red hair!”  
“So did Lily Potter,” Ptolemy pointed out. “And you look just like her…”  
“I know…but…how can it be, Lucy? How?” Ginny said.  
“Let’s look at the facts,” Ptolemy said. “You look like the very spit of Lily Potter; you’re about a year and a half younger than Harry, so you’re certainly the right age to be his younger sister; you grew up in the Vale, the very region that Snape claims to have left you in, and from what I know, he was indeed the private physician for my grandfather, Tiberius Malfoy, and Snape lived in a cottage on our grounds while in our employ.”  
“That’s flimsy, and you know it!” Ginny said. “You’re leaving out the fact that my Mum and Dad never said anything about picking a baby up off their doorstep!”  
“Ginevra, they probably had no idea who your real parents were, and didn’t want to confuse you by telling you that you were a foundling. Your mother is a midwife-people must ask her help in sorting out what to do with a child they don’t want all the time,” Ptolemy said.  
She was a Vale girl, and was used to hearing these matters discussed, amongst servants and peasants.  
“I’m not an unwanted child! My parents wanted me! I know who my parents are!” Ginny said. Her back had straightened, the rose tint to her skin was a full blush, now, her dark eyes were true black like a new moon night perfect for casting curses, and her hair was a field on fire. Ptolemy had a thrill of fear and awe at her appearance. She was like Hecate, the goddess of magic itself, or Lilith at the glittering edge of the desert, powerfully, greatly and terribly feminine in her fury…  
Ptolemy heard footsteps. It must have been one of the Prefects, Head Boy, or Girl, patrolling the corridors for stray students. Their conversation was sensitive, they couldn’t talk any further, so Ptolemy knitted her fingers in Ginevra’s silk fire hair, put her lips to the other girl’s, and kissed her. She swallowed Ginny’s gasp, felt her shoulders relax, and her breasts in her merino school sweater press against her chest as she moved closer, and she kissed back, pressing and sucking at Ptolemy’s lips, warm, wet, firm, and clearly wanting and enjoying it. Ptolemy put her hands on Ginny’s sides. She was so warm, so soft, and Ptolemy felt electricity licking her body all over, jumpy and giddy in a few key places, as Ginny moaned, taking over the kiss, ardently savoring Ptolemy’s mouth.  
They broke apart at the sound of someone clearing his throat, and Ptolemy looked into the handsome face of Albert Drinkwater, one of the Hufflepuff prefects, a sandy blonde.  
“Mr. Fanshawe, I’m afraid you’ll have to say goodnight to your Gryffindor friend, and come with me,” Drinkwater said sternly, and a bit pompously.  
“I’ve got a name-it’s Ginevra, and I’m leaving, anyway!” Ginny fired back and got up off the bench.  
Ptolemy watched her walk away and watched the light travel down the waves of her hair as she stormed off.  
“Feisty,” Drinkwater said appreciatively.  
“You’ve no idea,” Ptolemy said, but only someone who had known and watched Ginny as long as she had could have heard that even as she told off Drinkwater, her voice was on the brink of breaking. She was going up to Gryffindor Tower to cry, and Ptolemy yearned to follow her. 

In Harry’s second year at Hogwarts, he thought Professor Snape was trying to kill Professor Dumbledore-he turned out not to have been the culprit (it was a deranged Professor who lived in the catacombs, but that’s another story), but in his pursuit he and Ron and Hermione discovered a secret door in the non-denominational chapel which led to dark, wet tunnels that fanned out like the strands of a web through the castle. Harry, Ron, and Hermione decided to take this route now, to Dungeon 3. After dinner, they slipped away from the flock of dark robed students and into the chapel.  
It was dark, not a candle lit, and moonlight alone graced the geometric flowers painted in the glass, casting shards of color on the altar and the floor. Ron tapped a certain stone, and the wall slid away, revealing the moist, cool mouth of the tunnel, like the maw of a water dragon. They began walking, following Hermione’s Locus charm to Dungeon 3. When they got there, Kashmira, Cressida, Neville, and Dora were waiting for them.  
“How’d you lot get here?” Ron asked  
“Oh, that fake bookcase in the Ravenclaw library, that leads to the tunnels. And Neville tagged along with Dora, walking back from Botany Club,” Kashmira said, as if it was nothing. She clapped her hands together, and said, “So! What do we know, so far, about the Manticore, and what do we hope to find out?”  
“We know that the Manticore is, and has been in the past, a student organization in Slytherin house whose aim seems to be to terrorize students who are not Pureblood,” Hermione said. “Alumnus who were involved with the Manticore in the past grew up to become Death Eaters, and the two organizations share an ideology that a pure wizard bloodline equals ethnic superiority.”  
Kashmira nodded.  
“The Manticore took credit for the Blood Traitor list graffiti and raining Traitor cards, and have been leaving Traitor cards in the book satchels of students they seem to deem undesirable,” Pandora said. “we can assume they were behind the charmed birds that attacked the greenhouse, and the cursed shoes given to the Aesthetic dance team, too. Crabbe and Goyle, dressed as Death Eaters, ran the Faeries and the Goblin Market away, and they also scared off the creatures of the Menagerie. Given their involvement with Eastling and Thrale, and their use of the term Blood Traitor, which appear in the incidents of vandalism and harassment which the Manticore took credit for or have been implicated in, we can assume that they, Eastling, Thrale, and Rosaline Wilcox, make up the corps of the Manticore.”  
Harry was in awe of Dora, how calmly and articulately she had delivered that report, like an Auror-or, how he imagined them to be. The closest he’d met to Aurors were the American agents, Willoughby and Blake, who had been impressively cool under pressure.  
“Then, there’s the village. Dora, as you all know, has been undercover, pretending she wants back into the Slytherin fold, going around with Rosaline’s friends to see if she can overhear anything about the Manticore. When she was out in the village, a Squib woman approached Deverell Eastling and accused him of being involved in her daughter’s disappearance,” Harry said. Dora smiled at him, her eyes meeting his in gratitude, as she realized he did care, after all, about the missing girl.  
“Ooh! We went around to Madam Applethwaite’s today!” Cressida said. “Hermione, I know you thought maybe the Manticore was running a sort of ‘boyfriend scam’ and for whatever purpose they were luring girls in with promises of romance, at someone’s behest. Well, I think I know whose!”  
“Whom?” Hermione asked.  
“Gordon Manfred! The poet!” Cressida said.  
Harry, Ron, Kashmira, and Hermione listened as Pandora and Cressida unspooled their tale, of Sarah, a Squib girl who yearned for magic and wrote poetry, who had been taken in by Eastling, who, like many, admired the dashing, mysterious, and amoral Manfred, and used his poetry to pose as worldly and romantic. Manfred fancied himself the key figure of a movement, to raise latent magic in Squibs using tantric mystery rituals.  
“But…what’s that got to do with Death Eaters?” Harry asked.  
“Death Eaters are not the only users or practitioners of Dark Magic. If the Manticore is acting on someone else’s behest, could it not be Manfred and his cult of mysteries?” Pandora said.  
“Manfred seems to be raising energy using women. The Death Eaters raise energy using violence and chaos,” Harry said.  
“We’ve got two seemingly competing narratives, here,” Hermione said, “where do they come together? Are the Manticore acting on the behest of Voldemort, or Manfred?”  
“Who knows how much of history has rested on what a woman says to a man in private at an opportune moment? Cleopatra and Caesar…and Antony; Napoleon and Josephine; Nimue and Merlin,” Cressida said. “Dora and I shall continue that tradition, at the ball! What we say to and ask the Slytherin boys will smoke out what they have been up to, and whose side they are on!”  
“The only trouble with that,” Pandora said, skeptical in contrast to Cressida’s enthusiasm, “is that it will be our word against theirs’.”  
“Or not,” Hermione said, smiling wickedly.  
All eyes flew to her.  
“I’ve prepared some jewelry for you two to wear. It should help…make an impression,” Hermione said, and pulled what appeared to be an opal necklace and a magnolia corsage from her book satchel. Harry had a suspicion that there was more to these objects beneath their surface.  
“What are these, Hermione?” Dora asked, a smile of curiosity on her face.  
“These appear to be opals, don’t they?” Hermione said. “But, in fact, they’re Illusioned selenite crystals. Selenite, as you know, picks up impressions of the wearer or handler’s thoughts and environment. When you have these leading conversations with the Manticore boys, the selenite will pick them up, and we can observe the memories in a scrying bowl, later-and, show them to Professors Dumbledore, and Fortune.”  
Dora looked delighted. “Brava, Hermione!” she cried.  
“I’m not done,” Hermione said, holding up a halting finger.  
“And, the corsage. Look inside, Cressida,” Hermione said.  
Cressida peeled back the broad petals, and a hard, marble-like eye with a glistening stripe stared back at her.  
“A cat’s eye crystal,” Cressida said.  
Hermione nodded, proudly. “It sees. And, the petals of this flower hear. Tickle them-go on.”  
Cressida tickled the petals, and they curled and shuddered. When they did so, they looked more like human ears.  
“Quite the floral arrangement, Miss Granger!” Cressida said.  
“Thank God for Mum’s ikebana phase!” Hermione said. “And, of course, we have a secret weapon. Harry, your red chord connection to Dora is going to be our best informant. I want you two to practice channeling each other’s thoughts, so you have it down to an art by Friday night.”  
“That’s no chore,” Harry said.  
“Good thing we’re meant to be avoiding each other-we have a lot to talk about,” Dora said, and she and Harry shared a smile.  
“Looks like everything is in order. Except, Harry, do you know how to waltz?” Neville asked.  
“Do I have to?” Harry asked, perplexed.  
“Yeah. Its mandatory. Its like knowing how to swim, or change a tire,” Neville said.  
“Not in orphanages for thieve, they’re not,” Harry said. “hang on, who will I be dancing with, anyway?”  
“Well, the plan, I think, should be for you to go in to cover Dora, but in disguise, of course, wearing a mask, and Ron, you can pose as a servant, a valet or footman. Just keep moving and people will think you’re on an errand. Harry, someone might request a dance…” Hermione said.  
“I can show you the basics. Um, but, we don’t have any music,” Neville said.  
“We’ll just count. Waltzes are easy: 1,2,3,4,” Cressida said.  
Neville and Harry stood, and Neville did his best to lead Harry through the dance. Harry returned Neville’s charity by stepping all over his feet, and tangling their ankle quite innovatively, and they nearly fell in a configuration that would have been equally novel. Hermione sighed as if tired of the display and pointed her wand at Harry’s feet. He and Neville waltzed fluidly and gracefully. Pandora caught Harry’s eye, and they shared a spark of laughter.


	79. Chapter 79

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anthea tells Dora a family secret...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone reading The Alchemist' s Daughter! Writing it continues to be a great source of joy to me, and I hope it is consistently enjoyable to read, as well.

Pandora had begun her relationship with Harry sneaking around the backs of her aunt and Severus, but they had been elated not to have to do it anymore. Now, they were back to square one, and Dora hated it. Another week at Hogwarts wore on, and every day she felt more accustomed to her friends, her classes, and the routines and culture of school. Muggle Studies and Magic in Literature emerged as her favourite classes besides Potions and Alchemy, but whenever she was released out into the corridors, she tensed and her heart sped up, as her eyes darted around for even a glimpse of Harry’s black hair and the crimson lining of a sleeve of his Gryffindor robes. If they did chance to see each other, and there were no Manticore or Bonnets around, they stole what time they could under a staircase, in a stairwell, in a chapel or a reflecting garden.  
Something about Harry’s approach to kissing and touching her had changed since they broke up in earnest, and had to live without their connection for even a few days. Now, they were both determined to prove with every second, every touch, every kiss, how precious they were to each other. Harry was more ardent, more sure of himself, and Dora was grateful to feel him shed of chivalrous restraint. He kissed her deeper, did not swallow his sighs and moans, and pressed against her as if eager to join their bodies together. Breaking away was always hard, as was heading to the village for tea at lunch hour with Rosaline, Lavender, and the Nymphs, with her skin still tender and stimulated from a stolen moment with Harry.  
Rumors followed her like begging children, all week. Sadie Tuppence’s quill never rested, so slavish was she in her duty to inform the world that Guildsman Black’s wild child niece was romancing dandies and blowing Wizardom’s tax revenue on diamond dyed gowns. Her old Vale friends, Agrippina, Calliope, Stelliana, and Belvina, had resurfaced, and resurrected with them the old tale of her alleged affair with Severus. The whispers were like a field of stalks as tall as her head, which lashed, swayed, and murmured in the wind as she walked through it, and she had moments of distrust and panic, not knowing who believed what, and what they were thinking about her. Kind words seemed snide, innocuous comments seemed to be alluding to something Sadie had written, and there were times when Dora just wanted to be alone.  
Experiencing such a mood, she took her assigned reading for Magic in Literature, “La Morte D’Arthur”, out to the reflecting garden outside the Headmaster’s office. A reflecting pool wrapped around a protruding, cylindrical segment of wall, and the water flowed into a little ornamental stream embedded in a brick channel between the two covered walkways. On either side of the water were rosebushes, and on a small hill the scene was crowned by a gazebo. Dora opened her book, and read with the topic of her essay in the back of her mind: Compare and Contrast the way the Muggle Queen Guinevere is portrayed, as opposed to the witch, Morgan Le Fay, and what this demonstrates about 15th century attitudes towards women and witches.  
A shadow of someone approaching appeared over her book. Dora was surprised to see who it was: her cousin, Anthea. She was wearing her bright, mischievous smile, and those sparkling eyes that always made whoever they lit on feel like the most important person in the world were lovingly trained on Dora. She was wearing an elegant and trendy Muggle dress, eyelet cotton in baby blue, with an Edwardian inspired construction, ankle length hem, and espadrille sandals. Her hair, Malfoy blonde but with the Black family’s wild curls, just like Dora’s, just like the long lost Bellatrix.  
Of all the Houses, Ravenclaw most emphasized decorum, but Dora forgot her Ravenclaw restraint and leapt from the stone bench on which she sat.  
“Cousin!” she cried and rushed to hug Anthea. She felt Anthea’s soft bosom, and hard, round, pregnant belly crushed against her as Anthea ardently returned the hug.  
They broke apart, holding onto each other’s arms, and drinking in the sight of each other.  
“You look so well, Cousin!” Dora said.  
“As do you, my dear! This suits you, all of this! Look at how smart you look, in your uniform! Oh, its very becoming on you, Ravenclaw blue!” Anthea said.  
“Better than Slytherin green?” Dora asked.  
“Well, you know, I think everyone should get to choose their own Coven! Its worse for the Muggleborns, isn’t it, because they have to be sorted? But, as you and I know, its no good to be born into a place one doesn’t belong, either,” Anthea said. “But, we have more important things to discuss than politics.”  
“Yes, we do. I met our cousin! Her name is Nymphadora, she lives in America!” Dora said.  
“Then, however did you meet her?” Anthea said.  
“Professor Fortune took us to Virginia, for special lessons…and I met Andromeda’s daughter,” Pandora said.  
“The Muggles have a saying, ‘It’s a small world, after all’,” Anthea said.  
“Quite right!” Pandora said.  
They sat down, side by side, on the bench.  
“That is terribly fascinating, dear, but I’m afraid I came here to ask you a few questions,” Anthea said.  
“Questions?” Dora said, mystified.  
Anthea pulled a tabloid newspaper from her handbag, and Dora felt a stone in her stomach.  
“Tell me you didn’t truly spend as many Galleons as this article purports, on a Liberalia gown,” Anthea said.  
“Anthea…I assure you, it was a necessary expense,” Dora said.  
“Oh? Necessary for what purpose? Blinding your rivals with the diamond dust?” Anthea quipped.  
“No!!!!” Dora groaned.  
“Cousin, believe you me, I understand. Its easy to get carried away, when you are surrounded by beautiful things, and you can just see in your mind’s eye how ravishing you will look in this gown, that fabric, so on and so forth,” Anthea said, “but, you must not forget how others will interpret the actions of a woman in the public eye.”  
“I wasn’t in the public eye until I bough that dashed dress, or rode in Blaise’s carriage, or whatever it is that so affronted that Tuppence woman,” Pandora said.  
Anthea sighed, and Dora was rankled by the implication that Dora wasn’t hearing her message.  
“Oh, dear girl, she doesn’t really care what you do. But, its her job to start a rumpus with words, and catch you in a trap so that her story has a subject. The objective here is to say that Sirius is a hothead who shouts mad things in the Guild, and can’t tend to his home life, either. So, they make you, his niece and ward, look like a holy terror-courting tutors and living fast, spending Galleons like Leprechaun gold-to show just how negligent he is,” Anthea said.  
“Why must she go through me, to get to Sirius?” Dora said. “Uncle is a good man, but I barely know him, really.”  
“Yes, dear, but that is not what matters. People melt the edges of facts to make them fit their narrative, and unfortunately…its rather easy to get people to believe badly of a woman. There are so many things deemed unacceptable in a woman, so to start a hew and cry, one simply must say those slanderous charges all are familiar with,” Anthea said.  
“What about the truth?” Dora said.  
“What is the truth, Dora? I have talked to Dr. Lupin, and he says you went on a drive with Blaise Zabini, and he’s seen you out with the Thrale and Eastling boy, and their sweethearts. Slytherin children. What about Harry?” Anthea said.  
“It’s complicated,” Dora said.  
“Hmm….I had a rather complicated life at your age too,” Anthea said.  
“And it all turned out all right, didn’t it? You and Maurice are happy now,” Dora said.  
“Yes, of course, but it wasn’t easy. I would have liked Poppa to come around, and accept Maurice as his son…but, we are Slytherin, Maurice is Hufflepuff, and ne’er the twain shall meet, as far as Poppa is concerned,” Anthea said, with a disappointed sigh. “and Mamma…I didn’t want to leave her, Dora, you must believe me.”  
“How is Aunt Cissy?” Dora asked.  
“Dora…dear…I think I shouldn’t put off telling you any longer. It is only, I didn’t know exactly how you felt about Professor Snape, I so didn’t want to tarnish any image you might have of him…” Anthea said.  
“I was never in love with him, Anthea. And…I don’t think he feels about me the way that everyone thinks, either. My mother’s memory haunts him. It is as if part of him is here, in the land of the living, but another part of him lives behind the Veil, with the dead, with her,” Dora said.  
“How horrible! Well, that makes a difference. You see, dear, it was rather abrupt, wasn’t it, when Mamma let old Mrs. Weasley go? She birthed us, for Circe’s sake, and tended us all for time out of mind…now, I know why. She would not render certain services, to Mamma, which Snape was willing to do,” Anthea said.  
“You mean…the opium?” Dora said.  
“Pandora! You knew?” Anthea said.  
“I saw him administer it to her, when Draco fell in the Hogmire, when Uncle directed Severus to keep me, Aunt, and Lucy in his quarters,” Pandora said. “But, she is off the opium now, isn’t she?”  
“Of course! But, going without it made her ill, for some time. She is now stable, but weak. I hate that awful man! Has he no scruples? Pursuing a young woman not 17, procuring narcotics for my mother…has he no conscience?” Anthea fumed.  
“Anthea, people think that I…had an affair with him. Its being written about, and people are talking about it at Hogwarts,” Dora said. “What do I do? Could this hurt Sirius, too, in the Guild? Could it hurt Gryffindor Coven?”  
“Oh, are you a Gryffindor, now? You would be, if you marry Harry Potter,” Anthea said.  
“Is that what you are proposing that I do?” Pandora said.  
“I think marriage is like a magical charm that erases a woman’s former reputation, and casts a shield around her in the shape of her husband’s name,” Anthea said. “Harry has been the wizarding world’s great hope since it was discovered that he survived. The missing Potter heir, the grandson of the great Dragon Rider, oh, you know the story. He is as Gryffindor as they come, and trust me, some of the rumors about where he was all those years are wild. Have you heard the one about him being Merlin’s apprentice? Or living on the Island of Centaurs to learn their heroic arts, like Achilles?”  
“He was in an orphanage in the Muggle world, where Squib children were taken after the war and the dragon pox epidemic,” Dora said.  
“Once again, cousin, you confuse the truth with what people would like to believe. And many people believe that Harry Potter has been studying the rare and deadly arts of great sorcerers and heroes, preparing since he was a small boy to defeat Voldemort if ever he returned,” Anthea said. “And, if you truly want to protect Uncle Sirius, and yourself, not to speak of Lucy…you’ll try to reconcile with him? Distance can be bridged, rifts can be mended.”  
“You sound just like them!” Dora said.  
“Whom?” Anthea said.  
“Uncle! Aunt! Severus! Telling me that the future, whether it is comfortable or miserable, comes down to who I marry! Why? Because marriages always stay so terribly happy, and husbands are always loyal? Look at Uncle and Aunt-that is not true! Because I have a lot of money, and other people want to get their hands on it? Fine! They can have it! Money cannot bring my parents back. Its all I have left, from a family I never knew,” Pandora said.  
Anthea’s pretty face looked grave. “Oh, dear…no, no, Dora, I didn’t mean…I was trying to help,” Anthea said. “When I married Maurice…”  
“He rescued you. He took you away from Uncle’s plans for you, and Mamma’s…problems,” Dora said. “But, Anthea…I don’t want to be rescued.”  
“I understand,” Anthea said quickly. “I did escape, and that wasn’t why I married Maurice, but it was the appeal of marrying when we did, so hurriedly.” She sighed, and said, “I am sorry that was the only advice I have to give you, Dora. You are braver than I. You must get it from your mother. She was a great woman. Mamma has never been the same, since Asterion disappeared.”  
“Who is Asterion?” Dora said, although as soon as she said the name, the shape of her tongue struck her as familiar, and she felt the ghost of a memory flickering, then fading just as quickly.  
Anthea smiled curiously. “You must remember! Why, you two were thick as thieves, in the nursery! But, you were so very young. About four years old, I’d say, when he disappeared. I was nine, so I remember more clearly. Asterion was our foster brother. Sirius’s bastard, whom Mamma took in during the war.”  
“Sirius had a bastard son?” Dora said.  
“Does that surprise you? He kept a bawdy house in Londinium, and played in a rock and roll band in the Muggle world. I suppose a whore or a Muggle woman was Asterion’s mother. I think she died, or couldn’t keep him, and you know, by that time Sirius was in Drakenberg for being an operative of the Order of the Phoenix,” Anthea said. “Anyway, Pyrite, of all people, showed up on our door and deposited Asterion. From that time, Mamma decreed he must be treated like one of us. Poppa did not like it. I think he was jealous, that his son, Draco, was always so ill and weak, while Asterion was such a merry and rosy, fat and playful little fellow. He was beautiful! Rosy cheeks, and the most beautiful green eyes! You and he were the most congenial of playmates.”  
“No…I don’t remember,” Dora murmured, frowning as she cast her memory for the little boy with green eyes.  
“He was always romping off, a cheeky and slippery little thing. Mamma, Lucy, you, me, and Asterion were at a Floralia parade, and as we were all watching the flower floats, he slipped off…and we never saw him again. It broke Mamma: her headaches and moods began, then,” Anthea said. She held onto the bench as she looked into the distance, towards the gazebo, and seeing not it, but the past.  
“I had no idea…I don’t remember…that all makes sense, now, why Aunt was always so unhappy. When we rode our horses together in the morning, sometimes Uncle would say that she was spoiled, and ungrateful, that nothing made her happy, though he tried. But, what could make her happy? She loved Asterion as her own son, the way she loves me as her daughter,” Pandora said.  
“Yes, my dear girl, of course. My father…he doesn’t think that women feel and think as men do. Did he truly think that clothes and jewels could mend the heart of a mother who has lost her child? He was always so jealous of Asterion….oh, Pandora, I don’t want to think that he had something to do with his disappearance, but it is only now that I have left home that I begin to know my father,” Anthea said.  
Pandora gasped.  
“Yes, its true. I think Father wanted Asterion to be lost,” Anthea said.  
What could Pandora say? Had he not instructed Severus to keep her locked away in his private quarters at Hogwarts? Had he not summoned Draco back to the manor? Lucius Malfoy had always been fond and doting to her…but he was a man used to the privilege of placing people where he wanted them.  
“What about Sirius? How much does he know?” Pandora asked.  
If Sirius had stolen Asterion back, or had him stolen, Dora felt sure he would not keep the boy in some undisclosed place, in someone else’s care; he so relished family closeness, and Asterion would be living like a brother to her, Harry, and Lucy at the cottage Sirius shared with Remus, if her uncle had any say in the matter.  
“He’s never brought him up, and I haven’t the heart to,” Anthea said. “You see, Dora, a lot of children were lost, back then. They were killed, to intimidate their family or by mistake in the chaos of a raid or an attack; they were ill, with dragon pox; they were hidden with people who were meant to keep their true identities secret, but betrayed them to Death Eaters, and they were killed for being Muggleborn, or half non-human; they were rounded up, taken to Drakenberg, right alongside adults, that the Dark Lord called Undesirable. That is why Harry is so remarkable. So many died, he lived. So many are still lost; he returned. In stories, kings return when their people need them. Owain Glendower, Arcturus Aurelianus, Quetzalcoatl…”  
“Harry doesn’t want to be a king, Anthea. I think he just wants to play Quidditch,” Pandora said.  
“Humility is very appealing,” Anthea said. “I am sorry I didn’t tell you about Asterion. But, I’m also sorry I did tell you. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t, sometimes!”  
“No, no, don’t be sorry. I want to know the truth. How can we know who we are, otherwise?” Dora said.  
Anthea hugged her, and kissed the top of her head.  
“I love you, little Cousin. I shall write to our cousin, Nymphadora. I want my baby, my Little Antigone to have…connections. Real ones. Not people one dines with and invites to fetes, who may scratch your back one day if you scratch theirs’, but real connections in this world, people who care and will come to one’s side when one needs love and understanding. Did our cousin seem like a good sort? I heard her mother, Andromeda, was a graceful beauty, and a gracious person-well, until she went and ran away, and eloped,” Anthea said, with a touch of bemused irony, as she had done the same thing.  
“That may be a hereditary trait,” Dora joked.  
Anthea laughed. “Well, to summarize: don’t spend any large sums of money on shopping sprees, or elope, no matter who advises you to, even if it’s me,” she said.  
“Thank you for advising me, cousin: it seems in my inquiry of alchemical philosophy, I’ve neglected, and become remiss in my understanding of political innuendo,” Dora said.  
“They are equally incomprehensible. You wouldn’t happen to be wearing that diamond dyed gown to Tarleton Hall, would you? Maurice and I have been invited. Everyone has. Everyone always is. Veritable pillars of the community, the Tarletons,” Anthea said. “Slytherins, and quite traditional, but not…you know…insane or anything, though it’s getting hard to tell.”  
“What do you mean, cousin?” Dora asked.  
“Well…the older families, they aren’t entirely unamenable to the Dark Lord’s message, even the ones who weren’t for him before, or genuinely severed their ties with the Death Eater cause when they saw how divisive things were becoming, even before the Dark Lord’s rhetoric and policies were truly pureblood supremacist and genocidal. Even those with prejudices generally understand that keeping order in society is more important. But…these people are older now, and so much of what they recognize has been done away with, and they feel curtailed and shunted aside, rejected and repudiated, for being who they are, who they were taught to be. The world has changed, they have not, not willingly, and, they are more receptive to hearing that Voldemort can make magic great again because they feel more keenly that they have lost influence and power,” Anthea said.  
“That’s horrible-but, not surprising,” Dora said.  
“Just mind who you associate with, cousin. I was rather relieved to think that you would be walking the corridors of Hogwarts and the streets of Hogsmeade with Harry Potter by your side…but, no matter,” Anthea said.  
“Anthea, I protect myself. I’ll be all right,” Pandora said.  
Anthea smiled, but it was a smile with a sad edge. She hugged Pandora, and they walked back into Hogwarts as students poured into the corridor for their next class.  
“I’m going to say a few last words to Professor Dumbledore, you go to class. Don’t be late!” Anthea said, and Pandora waved goodbye at her as she walked, until Anthea turned around and turned a corner.


	80. Chapter 80

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry tries to get Ginny to open up, steals intimate moments with Dora, and takes in a Quiddtich match; Lily, James, Robbie, and Natalie strategize; the Liberalia ball, and a confrontation with the Manticore, draws closer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everybody! I want to thank you for all the love and interest you have shown this story! I am coming up with lots of ideas for an original universe and original characters with their own unique backstories for the Coven Wars, and hope to be able to share that with everyone who loves The Alchemist's Daughter. I would appreciate your feedback. What aspects of the story and characters and world do you want to see more or, or know more about? What online platform would you like to see the story on in a new, original version? Let me know in comments, and thanks in advance:)

Robert, Natalie, and the ghosts of the Potters sat around the gleaming cherrywood dining table in the living quarters Robert never used, opting to recharge his energies at the mill house in Virginia after a long day of teaching. Outside the window, the mountains brooded over the vast gray lake, and stormy clouds obscured the sun. Candles and gas lamps were lit on the table, windowsills, and other available surfaces, compensating for the obscured sun. Natalie tried not to stare at the opalescent pallor the candlelight cast on James’s and Lily’s skin. It was beautiful, enchanting, but slightly discomfiting. If the light had been more muted, it would have been impossible to distinguish them from the living, but the buttery candlelight made them look vivid but not quite solid all at the same time. James’s delicate facial symmetry was almost androgynous, like an archangel painted by a Renaissance master, and Lily’s green eyes gleamed like jewels. Had they been quite this beautiful in life, Natalie wondered? They were different than other ghosts, Robbie had told her. Their united determination to protect their son was giving them something of a second life, and sharing their energy made them stronger, still.  
When Robbie was done recounting what had happened during Harry’s last energy shielding lesson, Lily sighed.  
“Dragon sense?” she murmured, clearly asking the universe at large how they were supposed to deal with this.  
“I guess it skipped a generation. Skipped over me, went from my dad to Harry. I tend to think gifts like that appear in a generation where they are most needed,” James said.  
“I suppose…but, if Robbie’s theory is right, it’s the reason Voldemort wanted Harry. He just wanted the other little boys dead, so they could never become greater than him. But, he wants to use Harry, steal from him…and maybe then kill him, or worse, enslave him..” Lily said, and finger combed her hair, which was the most unique red Natalie had ever seen. It called to mind bonfires raging against dark evening shadows, angry rivers of lava pouring languidly down the mountainside of a volcano, but, also, blood, with its wildfire highlights and incarnadine lowlights.  
James caressed her wrists the moment her fingers withdrew from her hair. He was deftly sensitive to his wife’s needs, and it was a poignant moment to watch.  
“We need to know how dragon sense works, and if Harry can use it to protect himself, somehow,” James said.  
“If he had a dragon, I suppose,” Robbie said.  
“Then Harry needs a dragon, doesn’t he?” James said enigmatically.  
“He needs to get out of Britain,” Lily said. “We have to get that across to Sirie and Reemie, that they need to take Harry away.”  
“That time is past,” James said gravely, sounding older than he looked.  
“Like Hell,” Lily said. “there are charms, there are invocations, ways to hide so you become damn near invisible.”  
“And, my love, you tried them all, and they found you,” James said.  
“That’s different. It was a miscalculation on my part,” Lily said.  
“It was fate. We can’t outrun fate, we always have to face it,” James said.  
“They do say fortune favors the bold,” Robbie said.  
“Bold? I didn’t have time for bold, I had to be a mother, and keep my baby safe from a madman. Yeah, I hid. I let the Order wonder what the Hell had happened the night Jamie died, I took off with Harry and Rosie without a word to Sev…I didn’t have time to be everybody’s best mate and keep Harry alive. That was all I cared about,” Lily said fiercely.  
“We understand, Lily,” Natalie said, and the other woman gave her a brilliant, grateful smile.  
“Maybe, there will come a time when its better for Harry to run than to fight. But, we don’t want him running blind. We have to figure out how this gift of his works before we try to hide him,” James said. “how ‘bout you and I take a little holiday, Mrs. Potter?”  
Lily folded her arms. “A holiday? Where do ghosts holiday, Jamie?”  
“What if we go to the Summerlands, and talk to my dad?” James said.  
Lily’s face softened from resolute disgruntlement to surprise and curiosity. “The Summerlands? The afterlife, for wizards? Jamie…you want to cross over? Give up being ghosts at Hogwarts?”  
“Not permanently. We’ll be relying on you, Robbie, to be our grounding conduit. You’ll help us cross over, and you’ll bring us back,” James said.  
“Can you do that, Robbie?” Natalie said.  
“Its do-able,” Robert said.  
“Is it safely do-able? I mean, is there anything in the Summerlands that could try to keep Lily and James there, on the other side, and would those things hurt Robbie for trying to pull them back to this plain?” Natalie asked.  
“Those are good questions. Wouldn’t it be safer to get Harry out of Voldemort’s way?” Lily said.  
“Lily! I get it, you’re a mum, but look around! We very nearly didn’t beat him back the last time, and if it gets like that this time…or worse…there will be no ‘out of Voldemort’s way’. He’s just one man, but if he attains real power, then he can set the stage for how wizards think and behave all over the world. This isn’t about putting Harry in a basket and floating him up the river, this is about the world we want, the Wizarding World we either allow to fall or help to preserve,” Robbie said. “You and Sev came to me, said I was a wizard…that we were all going to go off to school, learn magic…told me I was gonna have a better life…and I have. I’ve had a life. Better than marrying the first girl I knock up and then beating the shite out of her out of resentment, or getting my throat slit and ending up buried in a landfill by one of the punters my dad threw my way, some sick fuck who couldn’t stand the fact that he liked getting sucked off by pretty twinks, or in prison, or whatever would have happened if you hadn’t held your hand out to me that day. You were like an angel, Lily.”  
“I’m no angel, Robbie,” Lily said, shaking her head.  
“You’re my bloody angel. And Harry does need you, love, but this is bigger. Bigger than one boy needing an angle. We could all do with some angels, now. D’you understand, love?” Robbie said.  
The two old friends held each other’s gaze meaningfully, and then Lily said, “Can you get us to the Summerlands and back, Robbie?”  
“You know…I can do a little bit of this, a little bit of that,” Robbie said. “I’ve had some success before.”  
“ ‘Some success before,’” Lily quoted, and with love and a wicked laugh, she added, “Fuck you, Robert Fortune.”  
Robbie smiled, winked, and said, “I love you too, Lil.”  
“But, I can’t just leave Rosie like this. She’s just found everything out about her, and Sev, and she feels…lost, betrayed,” Lily said.  
“There’s only so much we can do for the children like this. The things that we can do are the things of a ghost. You want to do more. I know its hard, darling. But no matter where we go, and what the children are going through, we can give them our love. I love Rosie just as much as you do, dear. She and I had some great conversations, before she was born,” Jamie said.  
“Oh? And what did she say?” Lily said bemusedly.  
“She said she wanted to make you happy. That’s why she chose you to be her mum, because she felt how much you needed to be happy again,” Jamie said, and reached for Lily’s hand. She took his hand, and squeezed it to fortify her as tears sparkled in her emerald eyes.  
“She’s such a happy little girl, inside. She has a happy heart. But, she’s in so much pain,” Lily said.  
“She’ll find her way,” James said, and Lily nodded, her eyes captured by his completely.  


As Pandora sat at the Ravenclaw table, eating breakfast, carrier birds flew into the Great Hall and delivered parcels and letters to the students of Hogwarts. The birds were owls of all shades, wise-eyed ravens with the sheen of ink, and feetless martlets whose wings blurred and kept them hovering even when paused in motion, like hummingbirds. Parcels landed in Cressida’s and Pandora’s laps, which they knew came from Madam Arklow’s dressmaker’s, and contained their Liberalia gowns. Dora looked around to see if any other girls had received tell-tale parcels. Looking for Rosaline and the Nymphs, she discovered that these conspicuous Slytherin girls were missing altogether from their House’s table. The Slytherin boys in their black, student wizard’s robes may as well have been the pupils of an all boy’s institution.  
She nudged Cressida and said, “Look! No Bonnets!”  
“They must be preparing for something,” Cressida said.  
“Like what?” Kashmira asked.  
“Maybe an initiation of some sort, before the festival,” Cressida said.  
“Like…a ceremony of some sort? What would it mean?” Kashmira asked.  
“It would be an introduction into the way of life they have been sentenced to,” Pandora said.  
The chairs where the girls usually resided at the Slytherin table had been filled by boys. Their presence was not even alluded to by emptiness, as if they had never been there at all. 

After breakfast, she felt a tap on her shoulder, and her body lit up beneath her skin as if she had drank pure light and it was dispersing through her veins. Harry! Her soul, her skin, her heart knew it was him, and she felt attuned to him, eager to face and follow him. She caught the glimpse of the scarlet lining of the billowy sleeve of his student wizard robe, and followed its train to a portrait gallery. Harry closed the polished oak double doors as they entered the high ceilinged, spacy hall, its walls lined with portraits of venerable Hogwarts patrons, alumni, and faculty. Dora looked into his green eyes as he faced her, and took in those beguiling eyes, with their gem-like smolder of borrowed light from the chandeliers overhead, and his cheeky, smirking smile. She smiled too, so glad and safe and happy in his presence.  
“Harry,” she said, and hugged him. He wrapped his arms around her, and caressed her back.  
“I’m so tired of pretending that its over,” she said.  
“I know, I know. I am, too,” he said. “It’ll all be over, this week.”  
“I got my dress, in the post, this morning. That made it all feel real,” she said, as they pulled away, their arms resting around each other’s waists, and their hands on the small of each other’s back.  
“Having second thoughts?” Harry asked.  
“None. I want to do this-the Manticore needs to be exposed, to stop indoctrination to the Death Eater cause happening in secret at Hogwarts,” Pandora said. “Besides, Dionysus was always one of my favourite gods. He is most people’s favorite-its no chore to honor the god of good times.”  
“So, the Liberalia is in honor of Dionysus?” Harry asked.  
Dora nodded. “The god of wine and ecstasy, revels and theater. He travelled as far as India, quite far in ancient times, and preached freedom to men, women, satyrs, nymphs. Humans and creatures alike joined his train, the handsome young god riding on twin tigers, followed by those he had liberated. He fell in love with the beautiful princess Ariadne when the hero, Theseus, left her stranded on a sandy island in the middle of the Mediterranean.”  
“Some hero!” Harry said.  
“Dionysus thought the same. Ariadne was heartbroken. But, somehow or another Dionysus brought her round to loving him, and he fed her ambrosia, the nectar of the gods, to make her a goddess. He also made her a crown of stars in the sky,” Dora said.  
“I can’t help myself, I think I like this guy,” Harry said.  
Dora smiled. “He’s a most likeable god! But, I fear some people overemphasize the ecstatic part of his worship. Liberalia can be a little too merry.”  
“Can’t be any worse than Christmas with Sirius. He gets drunk as a lord, and sings Christmas carols,” Harry said.  
Dora laughed. “I can’t wait to see that for myself! I’ve never celebrated Christmas before. We had Saturnalia, instead,” she said.  
“Another old Roman holiday?” Harry asked.  
“Yes. I suppose its all rather pretentious,” Dora admitted.  
“Yeah, but we’re lucky you know all this stuff,” Harry said.  
Dora said nothing, but nuzzled Harry’s cheek, feeling her skin upon his skin, reveling in the warmth and tickle of it. As she moved her face, he angled his face so as to be able to capture her lips. Harry kissed her, and Dora was immersed in the softness of his lips and the smell of his soapy skin. He caressed her, and she closed her eyes, feeling the feelings intensify and blossom beneath her skin.  
When she found the skin of his neck, the private, tender, salty skin, beneath her lips, she sucked, knowing how he loved to see bruises left by their kisses. Harry moaned, and the sound echoed through the red chord which bound them together. Maybe the chord had sprung into being when they were born, maybe before. Maybe it had been tied to the stars under which they were born.  
Harry tapped her shoulder haltingly, and she pulled away. They looked into each other’s eyes as they breathed.  
“History of Magic. You?” Harry asked.  
“Potions, then Alchemy,” Dora answered.  
“Are you going to Quidditch, tonight?” Harry asked eagerly.  
“Hufflepuff vs. Slytherin,” Dora said.  
“Right,” Harry said. “I know you’ll have to sit with your friends, but…”  
“We’re never too far away from each other, Harry,” Dora said. She kissed his cheek and, reluctantly, left the portrait hall first, sneaking looks at Harry over her shoulder until she had to walk through the oak doors.  
As he came out of the hall some time after, some Seventh year boys had cornered him to speculate about the Slytherin/Hufflepuff match, and the chances of facing Nightshade if Slytherin advanced to face Gryffindor. As much as Harry loved playing Quidditch, he had never quite cottoned on to sports culture, talking bull and statistics. Maybe because so much of it involved bragging, and being boastful was a quick way to get a fat lip or a punch to the gut amongst the Dursleys’ orphans. Harry did his best to contribute and be present in the conversation, but it felt like a social performance.  
“Oy! You back on the team, or what?” one of the Seventh years, Entwhistle, hailed Ginny Weasley, who was passing them in the corridor.  
She looked down at her Mary Janes, and let her red hair obscure her face as she hurried by with quick steps.  
Entwhistle looked affronted, and said, “What’s with her?”  
“Lay off,” Harry quickly said.  
“What? She used to be a cool girl. Since she started dating Shepherd…” Entwhistle said lamentingly.  
His friend, Berrycloth, suggested, “Go do something about it.”  
“Maybe I will. Show her a good time. A few pints at the Pendragon, you know…” Entwhistle said.  
“I know for a fact the landlord at the Pendragon doesn’t serve anyone underage,” Harry said.  
“Good thing I’m 17 then, inn’it?” Entwhistle said. “Loosen up, Potter-she’s not your sister.”  
“She’s my best mate’s sister, and she doesn’t need to trade one git for another,” Harry said. Damn it, he swore inwardly. Quickly retorting at Slytherins was one matter, but losing his temper at another Gryffindor was another. So much for being the big Quidditch hero…he tried to be the magnanimous friend to all everyone expected…but all he really wanted was to be with Dora. He had to fight the urge to touch with his fingertips the place where she had kissed his neck.  
To his surprise, Berrycloth and Entwhistle laughed.  
“Fine, then. She’s too young, anyway. I like a girl who knows her way around, you know?” Entwhistle said, and gave Harry a jocular slap on the arm.  
“You can teach her everything she knows,” Berrycloth said.  
“Leave it off, man, before you end up on some kind of registry,” Entwhistle said, before Harry could come up with something far less sophisticated, and Harry was now inclined to think of his fellow Gryffindor as a capitol fellow.  
Berrycloth benignly muttered that he had to get to Herbology, and griped about the walk to greenhouse 4 as he took their leave of him. Entwhistle trained his eyes earnestly on Harry’s and said,  
“You wouldn’t mind if I go check on Ginny Weasley, would you? I mean, I think I saw her go into the chapel. Just…you know…as a friend?”  
“Are you friends with her?” Harry said.  
“I guess I could be,” Entwhistle said.  
“I’ll go,” Harry said firmly, and Entwhistle held his hands up in surrender, wearing a cheeky smirk. 

Ginny sat in a pew of the school chapel. Colorful light from sunlight striking the stained glass flower patterns on the window scattered on her lap and on the carpet. She wanted to say a prayer for her father’s soul, that he was happy in the Summerlands, the Wizards’ afterlife, but all she could think was ‘Daddy.’ She thought of how he would pick her up and place her in the branches when she was too small to climb trees by herself, the way they watched Muggle cartoons together on the small, portable black and white tv with a crooked metal antenna he kept in his carpenter’s shed, and the way he pulled her on his old boyhood sled as she held on wildly on snowy days. So many memories returned, piercing her heart that it was all she would have with him. They would never have any new good times.  
Professor Snape couldn’t be her father-she barely knew him! He had been the most despised teacher at Hogwarts, the only good she could say of him was that as long as she kept her grades up, he had never berated and mocked her as he did some of his less than stellar students.  
Well…he had also saved her life, devising the basilisk antivenom. When she was well enough to be released from the hospital wing, to rest further at home, Ginny’s parents had insisted that she thank Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape. She brought Madam Pomfrey a lavender plant, and Professor Snape a Venus flytrap, as well as a thank-you note. He had accepted both graciously enough, but it wasn’t as if he had hugged her. He had been stoic as usual…not like a man who had just seen his daughter at the brink of death.  
He didn’t love her. He didn’t care…and the father who did was gone.  
Ginny wept.  
She looked up, and through her tears she saw Harry entering the chapel. ‘No, no, no,’ she begged whatever powers there were above, but it was already happening, and he was walking down the aisle towards her. Before Harry came back to the Wizarding World, ballads and cheaply printed books about him circulated, telling grandiose and heroic stories. Ginny fell for the boy in the stories, for the idea that he was fearless, noble, valiant, powerful, and above all, good. Imagining being his beloved mostly consisted of dreaming of being saved by Harry in a perilous situation, and tending his wounds when he got hurt. Then, she edited these dreams-she didn’t want him to get hurt, and she didn’t want to be an herbalist like her mother, so gone were the healing scenes. She also didn’t want to be rescued, she wanted to learn to be a hero, too. 

“Gin?” Harry asked.  
Ginny looked up. Her black eyes met Harry’s, and they shone with tears. She looked like a startled deer.  
“Are you all right?” he asked.  
“Fine,” she said, gathered her book satchel, and rose from the pew.  
“Don’t!” Harry said, sharper than he would have liked to speak to her, but he needed to stop her from fleeing. “Don’t just run away again, the way you’ve been doing every time I try to talk to you, or Ron does.”  
“Neither of you just wants to talk! You want to tell me what to do!” Ginny said, but she had sat down once again in the pew.  
“I don’t. I really just want to know that you’re all right. I do know how you feel, you know,” Harry said.  
Ginny raised a coppery eyebrow, silently prodding him to explain.  
“What it’s like, to have Voldemort in your head. He leaves you weak, doesn’t he? He’s got so much energy. Its strong, you can hardly pull away from him, and its dark, so dark you don’t even know what it could do to you, but you know that you wouldn’t like it to happen, and it feels like it could happen any minute, whatever it is. And, its even worse when he’s not inside you. Then there’s the fear that he’s going to come back, take you again, fill you up,” Harry said, staring not at her, but into the colorful heart of the stained glass across from the aisles, a picture of a pelican tearing at his breast, feeding young birds.  
Tears fell down Ginny’s face in hot rivulets, as she jerkily nodded.  
“Does Roger make it any better?” Harry asked.  
“Does Pandora?” Ginny asked.  
“Yes,” Harry said, quietly, but with resolve. “I have a connection with Voldemort, but the one I have with Pandora…it balances me out. No, it sends me back to the light, when I need it, when I feel lost. If Roger makes you feel like that, then it doesn’t matter how I feel about him, or what Ron or anyone else thinks. But, I don’t think he makes you feel any closer to light.”  
“People don’t exist to save others, or be their salvation. If Rog and me are both having a laugh, then what’s wrong with that?” Ginny said defiantly.  
“Are you laughing, right now, Gin?” Harry said.  
She sniffed, and wiped her eyes, and her dark eyes and delicate, pretty face became infused with resolve.  
“Its not about Rog,” Ginny said.  
“I know. Its about Voldemort, and your dad…but he’s not making it better, and that’s about the same as making it worse,” Harry said.  
She turned her face away, let her hair come between them like a wall of fire.  
“I have to go,” Ginny murmured, rose, and this time Harry did not stop her as she walked out of the chapel.  
Harry gave her a head start, so that she would not feel pursued, and be set off. She had rallied her strength, but her emotions were obviously in a brittle place. He left the chapel a few minutes later, feeling dejected, disappointed in himself. Why was it easier to save people from basilisks and feral werewolves than it was to talk to them, and help them feel better? Of course, going on about how it felt to be possessed by Voldemort had made her feel worse, not better. Harry did not know what he had been thinking.  
Soft, loving, soothing comfort caressed his soul through the red chord, like the mist of a summer rain laden on a light wind. Pandora. She gave him strength. She knew that he needed it.

The rest of the day passed smoothly enough, but the image of Ginny with tears in her dark, shining eyes, looking like an old painting of a lovely young female saint minutes before their martyrdom, would rise once more in the theater of his mind. Her misery, and its unknown cause, nagged at him. He knew all could not be well with her and Shepherd, who was abrasive, opinionated, and acted possessive towards her, but he didn’t know the exact cause of her unhappiness.  
By the dinner hour, the infectious energy of the hour before a Quidditch match had spread. The teams competing ate their meal wearing their Quidditch sweaters. Students at all four tables were talking more loudly and animatedly than on a normal day, and there as no doubt that speculation, bets, and smack talk were flying about the hall in a tangle of excited noise.  
“Small fry, isn’t he?” Ron said, and nodded towards the Slytherin table, at Gavin Nightshade.  
He was the sort of child who looked so immaculate they were haunting, as prim as a child in old photograph or storybook, dark haired, dark eyed, pale skin, good posture and a quiet manner.  
“Small Seekers fly well,” Harry conceded.  
“Well, then he’s got that over Corday,” Ron said. The Hufflepuff Seeker, Tudor Corday, was a solid seventh year boy, with rosy skin, a full face, and a good-natured smile.  
“Aren’t Seekers a bit overrated? Its Chasers who do all the scoring, isn’t it?” Hermione said, addressing her comments to Ginny, who looked distracted, became aware that someone was speaking to her at a delayed pace, and said, with bewildered eyes,  
“What?”  
Ron looked at her as if trying to see through her skin to what was going on in her head, but Ginny said no more. The plates before them disappeared when each of them finished their food, and the students rose from their House tables. A human tide travelled towards the door, and the cacophony of myriad voices became a roaring wave as they all headed towards the Quidditch pitch.  
The school day’s routines and necessary decorum felt like an invisible prod keeping them walking along a track, mostly silent and headed from one destination to another as they did so. Being released onto the dewy grass of the castle lawns, beneath a dark blue sky of dizzying stars, and a dented, almost full, round, yellow moon was exhilarating. It made everyone seem more interesting, beautiful, and funny, to each other, made everything about the word forgivable, fascinating, and beautiful, to be walking in a big noisy group, dressed in their evening, after class jeans, tshirts, and sneakers, the night air kissing their faces and hair.  
Harry caught sight of Dora and her Ravenclaw friends, of her dark brown hair catching the silver sheen of the moonlight, of her slender wrists and hands moving as she talked animatedly to Cressida Beverley.  
Mordecai Gorse broke off from their group to join Harry, Ron, and Hermione.  
“I like Quidditch a dashed sight more when I’m just watching it, I must say!” he said.  
Ron and Harry laughed, and Hermione asked, “What would you rather do, Mort?”  
“Well, Hermione…I haven’t been asked that before, but, now you’ve got me thinking. I think I’d row. You know, do Bumps, or Crew,” Mort said.  
“Why don’t you?” She said.  
“Because, we’re Quidditch men, us Gorses. My brother Malachi, he was quite the Quidditch hero. My parents just can’t work out why I should be any different than him,” Mordecai said.  
“That’s daft! Everyone is different, it doesn’t matter if they’re related or not. Granted, I’m an only child, but…” Hermione said.  
“Immaterial-I think you’ve got to the heart of the thing. But, try getting anyone who matters to listen or believe you,” Mort said. “They’ve got altogether too much power: the adults. What do you think we should do about that?”  
“I think if we leave it, wait a bit, let time take its course, we’ll be the adults-then we’ll have our say!” Hermione said spiritedly.  
Mordecai laughed. Harry couldn’t help but notice how animated Mordecai was, how he seemed both more confident than usual, and a little overheated, as if his pleasure in the conversation was ratcheting by the second and he could hardly contain it.  
“We’ll leave it to time, then,” Mordecai said. “Er, Hermione…would you like to go out on the Hogmire, sometime? Or the lake?”  
“I don’t know if I’m quite suited for Bumps, Mort,” she said.  
“Oh, no, I wouldn’t be trying to knock you out of a boat!” Mordecai laughed. “Perhaps we could just…row a bit? In the same boat? And talk?”  
Hermione looked perplexed, and then understanding dawned on her normally serious face.  
“Oh! Yes…that would be…fine. I mean, better than fine, it would be…smashing,” Hermione said.  
Harry and Ron exchanged a look: they had never heard her utter the word ‘smashing’ in six years of friendship. They both held their laughter in their eyes.  
“Why don’t you sit with us, Mort?” Ron said.  
“Can’t! Must rejoin my fellow Alerions!” Mort said, sounding yet more chipper, and smiling with bright hazel eyes at Hermione one last time as he headed off in the crowd.  
“Alerions?” Ron asked.  
“The Ravenclaw symbol is an eagle; in heraldic jargon, eagle symbols are called Alerions. Ergo, the Ravenclaws are collectively known, and refer to themselves as, Alerions,” Hermione said, as if it should be obvious.  
“What are lions called, then?” Ron asked.  
Hermione smirked, and said, “Generally, they’re called lions.”  
Harry stifled his laughter behind his quivering lips. He, Ron, and Hermione filed behind the other students mounting the bleachers and choosing a seat. Harry sat between them, and said,  
“Mort’s a nice bloke,” Harry said.  
“He’s…well….Ron, what do you think?” Hermione asked.  
“He’s fit. You know, in that ‘bright future ahead of him kind of way’. Looks good in sports coats, has read ‘Brideshead Revisited’, or plans to at some point. I thought you’d like that,” Ron said.  
“He certainly has that going on, and I most definitely like that…but, it was so out of left field,” Hermione said.  
“Not really. We’ve been spending more time together, us and that lot, since I met Dora, and with…what we’ve been planning, you know. You’re the smartest girl in the whole bloody school: why wouldn’t that attract a Ravenclaw bloke? He listened to your advice on something important to him, and talked about how he felt about something personal, and invited you out to spend time alone together. He did his bit, I’d say,” Harry said, but he hoped that this conversation wrapped up before the match properly started. The teams hadn’t come out yet, but all the houses were nearly finished seating.  
Hermione frowned thoughtfully, and said, “So, all that back there…means that he fancies me?”  
“Hermione. You’re a smart girl, come now,” Ron said sarcastically.  
Hermione looked bemused, and Harry dared a silent, smirking laugh.  
“Not everyone has a red chord of destiny. Its hard, to just…find someone,” Hermione said, and added, “Sorry, Harry.”  
“No, I understand. But, it isn’t all easy for me and Dora. Even with the chord, and being able to share each other’s thoughts, its like we’re in different worlds, sometimes,” Harry said.  
Hermione comfortingly squeezed his shoulder. Harry looked at the field and realized that he had missed the teams coming out to the pitch. Madam Hooch, the Quidditch coach’s, magically amplified whistle sounded, and the Slytherin team in their emerald robes, and Hufflepuff in gold, ascended the air on their brooms.  
The commentator, a Hufflepuff girl called Clementine Pepper, announced, “This one is decisive, my fellow Hoggy, Hoggy Hogwartsians! Hufflepuff has nothing to prove this season, Corday’s been a solid performer, a credit to the Badger badge, and he’ll be missed in our hallowed halls. The Montrose Magpies, however, will be getting one Hell of a Seeker! That’s right, Hoggy Hogwarts, you heard it here first: Corday of Hufflepuff has been scouted by an old boy of our very own house, Geoff “Winningest” Winnington!”  
“Looks like Winnington moved on,” Hermione said.  
“Good. Wouldn’t want him crying into a box of chocolates over me,” Harry said. Hermione and Ron laughed.  
“Slytherin’s had its ups and downs, following the abrupt departure of its Seeker of five years, Draco Malfoy,” Pepper continued, as the teams streaked against the gray sky in blurs of green and gold. “The alternate, Gavin Nightshade, is hardly invincible, but he is impressive-just ask Ravenclaw, who barely hung onto their house points when Nightshade stole the game from their noise with a deft catch in the final minutes of the match.”  
“Nightshade hasn’t faced Gryffindor’s Harry Potter yet, but depending on the outcome tonight, the two lethally accurate Seekers may just be vying for the Snitch next week,” she noted.  
“No pressure,” Ron said.  
Harry shrugged. He wasn’t too concerned about Gavin Nightshade.  
Hufflepuffs Chasers were working harder than Harry had ever seen them, and scored admirably. Slytherin made a point of scoring aggressively earlier in the game, their Chasers grabbing up points, then falling back and letting the Beaters take precedence as they aimed the Bludgers hard at the opposing team’s Chasers and Seeker. It was hardly fair, but it was usually effective, considering that left the sky pretty clear for Malfoy to find the Snitch. He wasn’t a bad Seeker, per se, but it was well known that he had never beaten Harry.  
Nightshade was not Malfoy. Harry watched him fly. His pursuit of the Snitch wasn’t as dogged as Malfoy’s, who let his frustration mount and tell in his posture, his flight, and missed the Snitch for wanting it too badly.  
Nightshade, however, wasn’t worried about what Corday was doing-he was truly pursuing the little gold, winged ball, and it was flying away from him. He saw it, he just couldn’t catch up with it.  
“Is that normal?” Harry asked.  
“What?” Ron asked.  
“The way Nightshade can see the Snitch the whole time, but its evading him. It knows its being chased!” Harry said.  
“Charmed objects have a certain awareness. Magic is, after all, concentrated will, or concentrated thought, if you will. Nightshade notices that the Snitch notices him, basically. I’d wager he’s practiced a lot,” Hermione answered, before Ron could.  
“So has Harry!” Ron said quickly, and it was true.  
Sirius was delighted that Harry shared his father, James’s, talent and passion for Quidditch, and they had spent many happy hours on their brooms in the backyard, Harry catching a practice Snitch, and Sirius smiling proudly at him from the back garden. Harry liked slightly less the times when Sirius brought out a Beater’s bat and a Bludger and had him practice evading hits.  
“Its how the game is played, Harry-you gotta stay sharp,” was Sirius’s argument-Remus was still not happy about him aiming projectiles at their godchild, but, then, he wasn’t much of a sport fan.  
“Of course, Harry’s practiced, too. But, Nightshade is quite good!” Hermione said.  
Harry nodded. Hermione was right. Maybe the Slytherin Seeker would give him a merry chase, after all.  
Clementine Pepper announced, “HE’S GOT IT! HE’S GOT IT! NIGHTSHADE HAS THE SNITCH! SLYTHERIN WILL BE FACING GRYFFINDOR FOR THE HOUSE CUP!”  
Cheers erupted from all sides; though the other three Houses largely loathed Slytherin house and coven, no one could deny that Nightshade had played a good game.  
The stands emptied, and students buzzed with excitement, loudly recounting the match as they walked back to the castle. Since Gryffindor had not played, and the victory was not theirs’, there would be no afterparty in the Common Room, but Harry still felt excited. He would be facing a worthy opponent, for the glory of the House Cup. It felt like his duty, to earn it for Gryffindor, and every Quidditch victory helped him feel worthy of his place at Hogwarts. He would practice by himself on the pitch with the Snitch on during study hour, he vowed. Nightshade’s magical symbiosis with the enchanted object had inspired him to elevate his game.  
When the students passed through the castle’s huge ancient oak double doors, Harry caught sight of Dora’s hair and Ravenclaw scarf. He looked at Ron and Hermione, who bemusedly nodded their permission, then went invisible and wound through the crowd.  
He felt a rush of victory when he enclosed his hand around Dora’s wrist. He felt both thrilled and grounded when he smelled the scent of her hair, English lavender. She turned around, and her eyes were widened in surprise, at first, but then she smiled as she realized that it was him.  
She nodded towards a bend in the corridor, and Harry followed her. Dora led him into a room full of strange glass objects: vials, bell jars, alembics, and beakers, on shelves and racks, glass in every color of the rainbow. There were also tapestries on the wall that were much like the pages of the Tabula Smaragdina, runes and mandalas representing the chakras. Harry found it all spooky.  
“What is this place?” Harry asked, becoming solid again.  
“It’s the Alchemy classroom,” she said. “We handle more advanced substances than in Potions. Crystals, metals. There are sometimes…explosions.”  
“Alchemy sounds like a dangerous life,” Harry said.  
Dora smiled. “Its never dull,” she confirmed.  
“So, what did you think of the match?” Harry asked.  
“Thrilling! Gavin’s a worthy opponent. Poor Corbray never saw the Snitch-I don’t know if the Magpies are gaining quite such an asset, after all,” Dora said.  
“They’ll get used to each other,” Harry said.  
Dora laughed. Her smile was so beautiful against the colorful glass and the moonlight shining in the empty classroom.  
Harry moved closer. He tentatively brushed his lisp against Dora’s, and allowed her to deepen the kiss. When he felt her lips move eagerly against his, he dared to slip his tongue into her mouth, just the tip tentatively, feeling the moist embrace of her mouth surround him, feel her tongue flick to meet his. Where they met became the focal point of an explosion of feelings that wracked Harry’s skin and the tender map of nerves beneath his skin. He wrapped his arms around Dora’s waist, and kissed her deeply, wanting to drink all that she was: she was warmth, she was mist, she was heat, she cooled and soothed him.  
How he longed to lay beneath her, or feel her weight beneath him, to lie down in her arms in any configuration of closeness. But every surface in the Alchemy classroom was covered in glass of many colors. Harry stood and held her close; she was the softest thing in a world of glass, and the colorful bottles filled with moonlight were like stars and moons paused in their orbit around them as they kissed at the center of their own galaxy.  
Dora broke away first, to breathe, and each of her hungry gasps for air hit Harry like subtle bullets.  
“Where do you think Professor Flamel hid the Lapis?” she asked.  
Harry had not thought about it, certainly not in the last few seconds.  
“Did you want to look for it?” he asked.  
“No-this was just the closest empty place I could think of,” she said.  
“Oh, so your main objective was to snog me. Good-I’d hate to think I was being used,” Harry quipped.  
“Don’t you read the papers? That man-eating strumpet, Dora Black…” she rejoined.  
“Don’t take that tosh seriously. You’re beautiful, you come from an old family, you have lots of money, so people know your name, and they think that means they own a piece of you,” Harry said.  
“They don’t. They can’t-and the same goes for you,” Dora said. “You don’t owe anyone anything, Harry,” she paused a bit, and said, “I didn’t think of looking for the Lapis…but every time I’m in here for class, I do wonder. I trust the Professor…he defied the Order of Thrice Great Hermes to save me, when I was a baby. He seems fond of my mother. But, admittedly, my mother seems to have kept rather morally gray company.”  
“All my Mum’s friends seem to be experts in Dark Magic…make of that what you will,” Harry said, and Dora laughed. She held out her hand to him, and said,  
“I think it means she was a strong woman, who could hold her own in very difficult situations. She sounds very brave,” Dora said.  
Harry smiled. Dora held her hand out to him, and said, “Come-walk me back to Ravenclaw.”  
Harry willed himself to turn invisible, as he had countless times before, and they left the room full of moonlight and glass.


	81. Chapter 81

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Liberalia ball at Tarleton Hall begins

Pandora and Cressida looked at themselves in the mirror. Kashmira sat on the bed, dressed enviably in her evening casual wear, jeans, a tshirt, and a zip-up hoodie. She folded her arms, and looked at her two friends in scrutiny.  
“You’ve got your necklaces, your corsages…well, all looks in order,” she said, to the two girls in white dresses.  
Dora did indeed have on the Thinkstone necklace that Hermione Granger had devised, but in her silver velvet reticule, she had the Avalon water pearls that Harry had given her. Knowing that they were there was a talisman, that she could do this, the task they had set for themselves to catch the Manticore. Her dress had a moonlight sheen, and to augment it she and Cressida had applied crushed diamond powder glitter to their skin and hair.  
“I wish you could come, Kash. You’ve got more sang froid than me,” Cressida said.  
“Ah, but you’ve got the pedigree,” Kashmira quipped wryly. “Run along now-good luck!”  
Cressida and Pandora squeezed each other’s hands for luck. Cressida wrapped silver velvet cloak even tighter about her, for a bit of comfort and security, as they headed out of the tower and down the grand staircase. The other students who were taking carriages to private amusements for the Liberalia were flooding the stairs, heading out of the castle. Pandora was surprised at their number, but also comforted that they weren’t too conspicuous. The students in their cloaks and gowns were like colorful birds, or gamboling butterflies. She caught sight of Hermione Granger in a gauzy pink chiffon dress, and a Carnival mask, and Harry in his emerald green velvet dress robes and a carnival mask, as well. She knew them by their hair and their shoulders. She wished that they were who she and Cressida were meeting, but Deverell Eastling hailed them.  
He strode over to them with a self impressed air. He clearly thought he cut quite a figure in a dark velvet frock coat. The chandelier light cast on his dark, dark hair, and shone in his dark eyes.  
“Miss Black, are you without an escort?” he asked gallantly, clearly hoping the answer would be yes.  
“Pandora! Sorry I’m late!” Neville said.  
She turned around, and Neville was wearing a black Muggle formal suit, with a plum purple shirt and tie, and Converse Chuck Taylor sneakers. Pandora smiled, and almost laughed in delight. Neville was so different than other Pureblood boys, and had such a joy for life and individuality.  
“Longbottom, what the Devil are you wearing?” Vivian Thrale snickered, joining them on the landing of the stairs, wearing dark robes with a patterned lining.  
“What? I don’t like robes. I trip over them. So, let’s catch a carriage. Where are the girls?” he asked.  
“They’re already at Tarleton Hall. Madam Tarleton is a devotee of Dionysus and Ariadne. Roseline, Calliste, Callirhoe, and Calligenia are being initiated. Pandora, were you not invited?” Deverell asked.  
“My family has different gods, as I thought everyone was aware,” she said.  
“Oh, yes-the mysterious Egyptian ways of the noble and most ancient Blacks,” Vivian said mockingly.  
“Well, then you’re missing something, Pandora,” Neville said, and waved his wand. A blue lotus appeared in her hair. Pandora smiled, delightedly.  
“A flower of the Nile! Thank you, Neville,” Pandora said. “Let’s be on our way,” she added, and they joined the rest of the throng to the carriages waiting outside.  
Brightly dressed wizards and witches hurried into the black carriages drawn by hippogriffs, but Cressida pointed and grasped Pandora’s arm, saying, “Look! Blaise is waving us over!”  
Indeed, Blaise seemed to be waiting for their party, dressed in sumptuous dress robes, a suit underneath, and a top hat, sitting upon the driver’s seat and holding the whip of his open carriage, the silver dragonettes’ tails curling languidly as they waited placidly to take flight.  
Deverell Eastling laughed with delight.  
“All this on my account, Zabini?” Eastling said.  
“You should be so lucky, Eastling,” Blaise said. Dora noticed that they did not, as Vale Slytherins often did, call each other ‘Coz’.  
“Someone not in the know might mistake you for my chauffeur, Blaise,” Deverell said. Vivian sniggered.  
Blaise looked more smug and haughty than ever.  
“I’m generally known on sight, don’t worry,” Blaise said smoothly.  
Dora couldn’t suppress a giggle. Blaise met her eye, and winked. “Sit beside me, Dora,” Blaise said.  
“I’m with Neville,” she said.  
“Pity there’s no room for him,” Blaise said.  
“I’ll squeeze in, here, I’m all right,” Neville said brightly, and sat in between a perturbed looking Vivian and Deverell.  
His cheerful face, in contrast to their sour and chagrinned ones, gave Dora even more amusement, but it was Vale amusement: wry little moments of noticing the absurd, or vanity perturbed. It was nothing like the pure shared joy of watching a Quidditch game with her uncle and Dr. Lupin, or eating a meal together at the cottage, or an afternoon rambling the grounds of Orchard Grange. One was sweet and filling like a homebaked pie just out of the oven, the other was slightly sickening like a sweet laced with liqueur, that left one unfulfilled when the intoxication wears off.  
The dragons, and the carriage, took the air, and the wind did not disturb the charms placed on the girls hair, nor Blaise’s hat. Wispy clouds that looked like stirred meringue hung in the sky, filmy and thin enough for the stars to shine through them. The stars were out profusely, each one tiny and winking its light in delicate blinks, set like a ransom of jewels against an indigo sky. Beneath them were the forests and villages of the valley, and the smoldering obsidian veins and pools of the lakes and the rivers reflecting the night.  
Dora’s stomach lurched as they started to descend, and the brick Georgian estate and green lawns of Tarleton Hall came closer. The carriage landed, and followed a line of other conveyances-pulled by fantastical creatures like winged horses, hippogriffs, and Monoceroses, a hardier breed of Unicorn with a brown tinted coat. Blaise’s were the only Dragonettes, and he looked quite aware and proud of the fact. Some unabashed gasps and double takes followed the slender dragons’ whipping tails as a servant in a liveried uniform, who appeared to have some Troll or Dwarf lineage, waved the carriages to park at the edge of the garden, beneath a line of Star Willow trees. Tendrils of luminescent blossoms, winking like stars, waved in the night air, shuddering with light.  
Dora looked up, dazzled at them, as Neville helped her out of the carriage, and their party walked the garden paths, back around the lawn to the entrance. They entered Tarleton Hall in a train of wizards in frock coats as colorful as colorful as the feathers of exotic birds, witches in lustrous white gowns on their arms. Portraits of notable personages in the Tarleton lineage lined the water silk covered walls, and sporting pictures of wizards and fantastical beasts, as well. The wizards in these paintings looked cold and imperious, and the creatures looked dead, painted inert and lifeless beside the wizards who had hunted them for trophies. As the formally dressed crowd moved forward towards the sounds of airy, refined violins drifting from the ballroom, Neville dared to whisper to Pandora,  
“If they’d do that to a Gryphon, what would they do to a Faerie, a Nymph, or a Centaur?”  
Dora glanced over her shoulder at the oil paining Neville had indicated, of a jowly bewigged wizard proudly holding a cudgel, and a lifeless Gryphon, with its proud eagle’s head, leonine body, and brown wings all limply positioned on the ground before the club bearing wizard. The picture greatly disturbed her, with its clear message that wizards were superior to other magical beings, and the lives of those supposed lesser races were in the hands of wizards, to make use of them however they saw fit, even to kill them for sport. She felt cold.  
They continued to the open doors of the ballroom. Over the heads and shoulders of the other guests, Dora could spy golden splendor-a hint of the white-gold chandelier light dripping from the crystal onto the golden gilding of the white walls, that same luminous light dancing upon the crystal of glasses of golden champagne tiered into a pyramid.  
“May I hold your bag? Your coat?” asked two valets at the door. Dora was just about to politely decline, when she noticed who they were: Ron Weasley, and Ostrulf of the Bear Hunter pack.  
“Ronald? Ostrulf?” she said, delighted, and had to restrain herself from kissing them both on the cheek.  
“Picked up some extra work,” Ron said nonchalantly.  
“Let me know how I can serve you, Gray Eyed Lady,” Ostrulf said ardently. Ron looked at him quizzically, wondering what that was about.  
“Thank you, Ostrulf,” Dora said, and then she and Neville had to move along. The ballroom unfolded before them, and it was a dazzling sight. The walls were festooned with golden gilding framing a series of frescoes along the walls, done in a cheerful Rococco style, its figures plump and rosy cheeked.  
“It’s the life of Dionysus,” Dora told Neville, recognizing key scenes of the life of the Ancient Greek God: his time as a child on Mount Nyssa, being raised in the guise of a young girl by Nymphs, demigoddesses; being rescued by dolphins from pirates on his travels, finding Ariadne on the island of Naxos and giving her a crown of stars and ambrosia to drink, making her immortal.  
“The Tarletons must be pretty hardcore devotees of the Cult of Dionysus,” Neville said.  
Dora nodded. “Do you think that means the night will get out of hand?”  
“Well…” Neville said, and cocked his head towards the array of champagne pyramids and fountains around the glittering ballroom. There were also chocolate fountains, pouring tiers of liquid chocolate like decadent lava, surrounded by platters of strawberries and marshmallow pears.  
Dora laughed. Yes, the chances that the guests would soon be inebriated were high.  
“The Romans called Dionysus and Ariadne by the names Liberus and Libera,” she said.  
“Like liberation?” Neville said.  
“Or libation,” Dora said.  
“I wouldn’t take any libations from here,” Neville warned. Dora heartily agreed. They had to stay observant, and stay in character. 

“Harry! Your sleeve!” Hermione admonished, and slapped Harry’s wrist.  
He looked down. Chocolate had, indeed, dripped onto the green velvet of his dress robes as he held a puffy, gooey balls of marshmallow pear, a fruit that tasted like a honeydew melon S’more.  
Harry licked the chocolate off his sleeve.  
“Better?” he asked.  
Hermione’s mouth took on a grimacing smirk.  
“You’re meant to look like a gentleman,” Hermione said. “Can you imagine, if you had grown up around all this? Sometimes I think it would be impossible to truly think or behave freely, if you grow up in a world of such complex, hidebound, and time-honored convention.”  
“My dad did. I mean, he married my mum, a Muggleborn, fought against Voldemort, was best friends with a werewolf…he made his own ideas about things. As did Sirius. He ran away from home. Anyone using the excuse that they’re Pureblood not to think for themselves just thinks their life will be easier if they go along with the status quo. They don’t care that they’re oppressing others, or they’re profiting from it,” Harry said.  
“And tonight, we’re going to eat their food,” Hermione noted wryly.  
“How do they have all this Faerie fruit? The Goblin Market’s been gone for weeks, now,” Harry said.  
“That’s the thing about a society with a favored class or race on top, the rest on the bottom, and unjust laws in place to keep society unfairly stratified. The class on top curtails the opportunities to improve or even enjoy life of those they rule, then break all their own rules to have whatever luxury they want, through any means. The elite Pureblood wizards can have Faerie fruit imported, they can afford the cost, and they have black market connections, too. Do I sound like Roger Shepherd?” Hermione said.  
“Shep’s not wrong, he’s just a pain in the arse,” Harry said with a shrug.  
Hermione giggled.  
“Shh,” Hermione shushed Harry sharply.  
A string quarter of four fauns, satyr-like creatures with kind, intelligent faces, played a refined tune with dramatic, lamenting cellos, and shrill, beseeching violins layered like the scent notes of a perfume. The guests arrayed in a loose circle around the center of the glistening, rosy marble floor.  
“The dancing is about to begin,” Hermione said, and pointed to a woman emerging onto the ballroom floor. “That’s Madam Honoria Tarleton, the lady of the manor,” she said.  
Madam Tarleton was a frigidly beautiful, proud looking woman in an empire-waisted gown with gold thread embellishment, who walked with a swan’s grace to the dance-floor. Her dark hair was in an elaborate up-do decorated with a white feather. Her dark eyes were bright with collected light from the crystal, marble, and champagne, but they were forbiddingly keen and aware. This was a woman who ate secrets, and relished the taste.  
“Welcome to the Liberalia,” Madam Tarleton addressed her guests, in a voice like ice hitting crystal, clear and refined. “On this night, we celebrate the god of Liberation, and his chosen paramour, Ariadne, the mortal who became a goddess. To lead our revels, it is customary to select a young woman whose youth, beauty, and promise shine like Ariadne’s crown.”  
“Oh gag me. Its clear they believe that youth and beauty are all a woman has to offer-woe betide the day they are both gone,” Hermione said disapprovingly.  
The young women in white were tensely preening to be chosen. Madam Tarleton was enjoying their agony. Harry recognized Roseline, Calliope, Calligenia and Calliste, the Bonnet Squad who had been absent from school earlier in the day.  
“Where’s Lavender Brown?” Harry asked, as Madam Tarleton inclined her head in selection towards Pandora.

Pandora stepped forward. Light winked in iridescent spots of colored light on her diamond-dusted white gown. The Thinkstone necklace smoldered with golden-white light on the stones’ polished surface. The light adored her honey brown skin, giving it the rich color of amber. A blue flower sat in her dark curls. The red chord that joined them shuddered as Harry drank her beauty.  
As she walked towards Madam Tarleton, Dora’s eyes flickered momentarily with surprise, then settled into a perfect mask of grace. Harry knew the girl behind the mask-her courage in battle, her love of nature, her conviction, her hope, trust, and love, the way her body became soft, pliant, and vulnerable as she was falling asleep, and the stars in her eyes as she woke up. The red chord quaked when Deverell Eastling stepped forward, took her hand, and they began a seamless waltz. Dora moved as gracefully as a willow in the wind, but Harry hated the smug, appraising, and assuming way that Deverell looked at Dora. Those cold, dark eyes of his were forming ideas.  
Other partners joined the dance. Harry and Hermione tentatively took each other’s hands, but Harry admitted,  
“I don’t know what to do.”  
“I charmed your shoes,” Hermione said.  
“Dancing shoes-literally. You think of everything, Hermione," Harry said gratefully, as they joined the other couples on the rose marble floor.


	82. Chapter 82

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pandora tries to get information out of Deverell; Harry and Hermione survey their surroundings; Ron follows Draco underground

Pandora was as surprised as anyone that Madam Tarleton had chosen her as Ariadne’s avatar for the night. After all, Hogsmeade was not her home-she could expect to be known only by reputation, in a new place, and was prepared to withstand the observation of those comparing what they see with what they’ve heard before extending anything but civility. However, instead of reserved scrutiny she felt the seething glare of the other girls in white, as they took the floor with their partners, like deathly priestesses praying to vengeful furies. She was glad to have the music and the dance to focus her heart beat passionately, warming her body, and the warmth in her face felt deceptively close to true happiness-but, not quite.  
She had to fight her inclination to glance over her shoulder, to spy Harry and Hermione amongst the dancers. Though his feet moved ably, even beneath the carnival mask he wore to hide his face, Dora could tell he was regarding his nimbly moving feet with incredulity. It seemed Hermione had charmed his shoes to waltz. Dora would have found the whole thing funny and delightful, in any other setting. At the moment, she wasn’t free.  
Deverell was as confident at the waltz as he seemed in all other matters. She resisted feeling in tune with him, as their bodies moved together and apart, forming the figures and forms of dances they had both learned as part of their education in the etiquette and expectations of the Pureblood elite. He was fluid, poised, natural, too perfect: like his manners, they felt like a velvet caress before some kind of smacking betrayal. When the music ended, she and Deverell, as the principle dancers, both bowed. The dancing couples broke apart and went to the tables for refreshment, or to await another waltz.  
Dora looked around for Neville, and spied him talking to Ron. They then slipped off through a side door. She was sure that they were going to case the corridors of Tarleton Hall, and wished she could be sneaking around the manor rather than in the ballroom, being stared at by devoted readers of “Seen in Town”. She looked for Cressida, and saw her talking to Vivian Thrale…so, Dora deduced, still no Lavender. For that matter, where was Roseline? Why was she allowing Deverell to be detained by another girl, and act as a free agent at such a high profile fete.  
“That was delightful, but I daresay you’ll want to locate Miss Wilcox, now-and explain that we were thrown together by chance and Madam Tarleton’s caprice, not by your preference,” Dora said.  
“Caprice, do you think? Your humility is excessive, Miss Black. I wholeheartedly agree with our hostess’s assertion that you best imbue the virtues of Ariadne,” Deverell said smoothly.  
Dora laughed, and tried to sound flattered, but said, “Oh, I don’t know-I’ve not been left on any islands, recently.”  
Deverell allowed himself a smile in the corner of his mouth, and said, “You’re pure. No matter what tales people tell, no matter what unworthy people attempt to degrade you and bury your merit in their mediocrity, you shine, Miss Black.”  
“To whom do you allude, Mr. Eastling?” Dora challenged.  
He laughed softly. “Have I stumbled upon the subject you most wished to avoid?” he asked.  
“I’ve no idea what you mean,” Dora said. “But, while we are asking impertinent questions, did Madam Tarleton tell you that I would be her selection? You were clearly prepared to lead the dance.”  
“And do you feel that you were ambushed by the honor? Or, most specifically by me?” Deverell asked bemusedly, as if the idea that he had offended her was not one to be taken seriously, any anger she might have some sort of adorable quirk.  
“A waltz and an ambush are quite different in character,” Pandora said.  
Deverell smirked.  
“The choice was a worthy one, and I’d wager that Madam Tarleton didn’t want your response to appear artful. As if it could! There is no art in your demeanor, Miss Black. Everything you do, and say, is truly felt,” Deverell said.  
“I will accept this homage now as tribute to the goddess in whose role I’ve been cast, but I do expect you to abandon it when we return to school,” Pandora said.  
Deverell smirked, and then shot Ostrulf, on duty beside a table laden with a champagne and chocolate fountain, respectively, an annoyed glare, as if he should’ve known before Eastling himself that he craved a glass of pink champagne from the pyramid.  
Ostrulf handed both Deverell and Dora glasses, which seamlessly duplicated themselves as soon as they were removed.  
“Is that wise?” Eastling said. “that servant just did magic! How can the Tarletons allow it?”  
“No, I’d wager that the glasses themselves were charmed beforehand, to replicate, so that the pyramid won’t collapse,” Dora said.  
She quickly regretted being so forward. Harry didn’t mind when she explained things to him, and even seemed to like it, but Vale boys preferred a more silent and ornamental sort of woman.  
“Ah, the elusive secrets of the domestic arts,” Eastling chuckled, with pompous, superficial good humor. He continued, “A woman’s entire stock of such little tricks must go into an event like this! Life would be dull indeed if not for women, and women’s magic.”  
Dora wanted to squeeze her champagne glass and break it with her bare hand. She laughed, instead, maintaining her cover, even leaning into the devil-may-care, fun-loving, rebellious image that gossip had provided her with. She had to seem frivolous, rather than offended by Eastling’s blasé sexism.  
“Yes, well, its obviously wizards who have all the fun. Can’t you do something clever, to set this place all a tilt, like you’ve done at school?” Dora said, feigning bored huffiness.  
Deverell’s dark eyes met Dora’s, and then languidly, teasingly slid away. He smirked, and said,  
“I don’t know what you mean, Miss Black,” laced with teasing irony, daring her to ask more.  
“Yes you do! The Tarot cards, the dancing girls’ shoes, the enchanted birds, the Goblin Market, and of course, the explosion! That was the best one,” Dora said.  
“Shh, Miss Black. You’re overheated,” Deverell said. “I should turn you back over to Longbottom. Surely partnering him for the rest of the night will be more…sedate.”  
“Come now, can’t you spoil all this somehow, in some amusing way?” Dora wheedled.  
Deverell chuckled. “Your contempt for all we hold dear is quite fresh, original, and endearing. However did you think you would have any measure of felicity with Harry Potter?” he said.  
“Oh, you know…I like to try things. But, I bore easily,” Pandora lied, feeling stricken inside, like she had forsaken a vow. She knew that this was what being undercover meant…but she could also feel the red chord, threaded with her very soul, and hated the idea of betraying it, even just with words. She didn’t feel good, she didn’t feel like herself. But, she could also sense that Deverell was accepting her Rebel Heiress routine, and close to cracking.  
“It is you, and your friends, isn’t it, behind all those diversions at school?” Dora said. “its all some sort of secret boys’ brotherhood, isn’t it?”  
“What’s Draco told you? And how is the old boy getting on, anyway?” Deverell asked.  
“He’s always taken ill suddenly, and bounced back just as suddenly, you know,” she said.  
“Come now, Miss Black. You will recommend me to your uncle, won’t you? As a fellow servant of our Lord?” Easting said.  
Dora felt a vein of lightning pierce her. Eastling was admitting to being a Death Eater?!  
“Now, Mr. Eastling, it is I who have no idea what you mean,” Dora said.  
“Well, perhaps if we can steal a private moment, I can elucidate the matter. For now, we mustn’t talk during the entertainment,” Eastling said.  
String music as ethereally beautiful as phoenix issued from the instruments held by the fauns, and a hauntingly beautiful, operatic voice rose above it. Couples took each other’s hands, and glided back to the dancefloor as a willowy woman with green gray hair like an underwater vine, and amethystine violet eyes, wearing a white gown with Classical pleats sang a song in a graceful language whose words climbed, curled, and evancesed like the smoke of incense burned in prayer. Deverell took Dora’s hand, and it was cold.

“A Dulciad!” Hermione cried, sounding impressed.  
“No more dancing, Hermione, these shoes are bloody killing me. When does this charm wear off?” Harry said.  
“When you no longer need to waltz like a gentleman, and not a minute before. Sort of like Cinderella’s shoes,” Hermione said.  
“You’re having too much fun with this. Its pretty hard, to pretend to be someone you’re not,” Harry said. “And, what’s a Dulciad?”  
“They’re a sort of nymph. They’re known for their lovely singing voices,” Hermione said.  
“I hope they pay them, the fauns and nymphs,” Harry said.  
“Probably not what they’re worth,” Hermione said. “After this dance, I want you to cut in on Deverell and Dora, and steal away to the garden with her. Its not unusual at an event like this to stroll the grounds. Neville and I, and Cressida, will meet up with you as soon as I can discreetly get a word with them.”  
“What about Ron and Ostrulf?” Harry asked.  
“Didn’t you take a program, on the way in? We’re going to break up the dancing in about another hour, and dine. Anything they find out in the servants’ quarter, they’re going to pass along in a note concealed in our napkins at dinner,” Hermione said.  
“Have you seen Lavender Brown? She’s in with this lot, isn’t she? I figured Thrale would bring her along,” Harry said.  
Hermione frowned. “It is rather strange, yes…but, maybe Thrale didn’t find her suitable.”  
“Then, why wasn’t she at school?” Harry said.  
Hermione thought about it, silently pondering, but whatever her theory was, she didn’t share it with Harry. Harry fell into the task of emulating what the dancers around him were doing, while the Dulciad sang. His feet were taken care of by Hermione’s charm, but mimicking the hand movements, airy and precise poses, was trickier. Neville, he observed, despite the fact that he was wearing trainers and a Muggle suit, was having no problems at all with the steps of the waltz, exhibiting a grace that Harry wouldn’t have suspected, and dancing with Roseline. Neville was with his mark, Dora with Deverell, and Cressida with Blaise. One way or another, they were bound to find some evidence of the Manticore's existence, and guilt.

Ron and Ostrulf were relieved of their duty at the refreshment table by two resident member of the staff, valets who gave them sniffy looks as they made their way back to the kitchen. Ron shook off the unkindness of the Tarleton staff. A domestic job at an estate like this, he knew, was the benchmark of success for the Squib class, who had limited options. If they managed to land a senior position like housekeeper, butler, head cook, or lady’s maid, they could expect to retire from it, if all went well. The valets, who hoped to ascend to butlers one day, looked at the hired catering staff as outsiders, besmirching the pride of the domestic staff regularly on duty, Ron’s, Ostrulf’s, and the other hired servers labor needed to take some burden from the staff, but their presence an implication that they couldn’t handle a big event on their own.  
“Tetchy, aren’t they?” Ron quipped.  
Ostrulf was not much of a talker, and responded with a meaningful quirk of his eyebrows, and slight smile. He wasn’t shy, so much as silently expressive, and it only heightened the palpable effect of his bronze skin, golden eyes, and blonde hair flecked with strands of eye-catching colors, honey golds and grays. Ron couldn’t deny it, Ostrulf looked as if he would be sweet and warm to the taste…but, he couldn’t help but think of Draco, contrasting his lunar beauty with the solar shades of Ostrulf. Draco was a winter moon reflecting on the surface of a pond at midnight, frost encasing the limbs of a slender sycamore on the morning of the first snow…he looked cool, but he was warm, ardent…  
And Ron was sure he saw him slip down the narrow servants’ corridor, heading to the servants’ stairs. He’d known Draco all his life, he would know him anywhere, and he watched the back of Draco’s white blond head, and the tail of his black velvet dress robes, disappear into the damp, dark passageway.  
“Should we follow him? He’s sneaking around, it might be a Death Eater,” Ostrulf said.  
Ron hesitated…he hadn’t expected to go into the heart of danger without Harry and Hermione. But, Ostrulf was right, sneaking around the servants’ corridor wasn’t generally what a gentleman of Draco’s order should be doing at a grand fete. He must be on the Dark Lord’s business.  
Ron cast a charm for silent footsteps, which he had often seen Hermione use, and since he didn’t have Harry’s gift for invisibility, a Chameleon charm, on both him and Ostrulf. Both of which he had never tried on his own before, usually relying on Hermione. When he felt they were ready, he nodded to Ostrulf, and they pursued Draco down the dark passage, silently blending into the dark.  
The walls breathed cold through the stone arteries of the house. These passages were used by servants to get to and from each room and the various tasks they performed, without being seen by the Tarleton family and their desks. The servants were essentially relied on to keep the house clean, tasteful, and running like clockwork, but it was bad taste for them to be seen at their labor. The chill of the passageway grew closer, and the only illumination they had was the light shining from Draco’s wand ahead of him.  
After quite a while of following him down the twisting paths of the passage, Draco, and Ostrulf and Ron behind him, came to a set of stone steps that led down.  
Ron put his hand on Ostrulf’s stomach to pause him, so that they could give Draco a head start. From a distant, they followed him as he descended.


	83. Chapter 83

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry, Hermione, Dora, Neville, and Cressida compare notes; Ron and Ostrulf overhear key information as Pyrites and Draco confer in the subterranean recesses of Tarleton Hall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who is reading and enjoying this story!

“May I cut in?” Harry said, and Dora found his emerald eyes behind his mask.  
“I beg your pardon?” Deverell drawled scornfully.  
“Loathe as I am to admit it, Mr. Eastling, this is our second dance. I think it would be only delicate if I allow another partner a turn,” Dora said.  
“Where’s Blaise, then, he’ll do,” Deverell said, looking around.  
“He seems quite taken with Miss Beverley,” Dora said.  
“As a practice, he quite convincingly seems quite taken with Miss Somebody New, every week,” Deverell said impatiently. He relented with a sigh, and said, “All right then, I’ll relinquish you to our friend, the banditti, since he doesn’t seem to be going anywhere.”  
“Its only cordial, Deverell,” Pandora chided, but she was already growing impatient with her act, and having to pretend to tolerate woman-selling, absinthe swilling, pureblood supremacist swine like Deverell. When her hands touched Harry’s, to begin their dance, her skin sang and the red chord running through her heart shook. She looked into his eyes, and saw real, pure love, and respect.  
“I rather like it,” Pandora said, and played with Harry’s black velvet mask.  
“Dora…we can’t act as if we know each other!” he reminded her.   
“Then, instead shall we act as if you’re a mysterious, dashing stranger who lured me away to a talk in the garden? I shall give Madam Tarleton her due, there are some breathtaking star willows out there I would love to get a closer look at,” Pandora said.  
“I think her gardener, who’s probably a Squib, deserves more credit, and Hermione’s one step ahead of you,” Harry said.  
“Oh? Miss Granger advised that you seduce me under star willow light? First the pearls, now this marvelous suggestion: I must thank her one day,” Pandora teased.  
Harry laughed, and said, “Dora, the selenite is recording everything, remember?”   
“Dear, you’re so tense!” Pandora said. “balls are meant to be fun.”  
“Yeah, I guess, if this wasn’t a Death Eater ball, and if my shoes weren’t on steroids,” Harry said.  
Dora giggled, and, grasping his hand, began to lead him away to the garden. It was not as secluded as they might have hoped. Light like fireflies paused in their blinking, or flames threaded on a string hung in tendrils from the trees, falling stars that shuddered but never fell or extinguished, illuminating the lanes between Classical statues and hedges cut into the shapes of fantastical beasts. Couples in masks, arm in arm and holding crystal glasses of wine or champagne.   
“There you are, you two! I was hoping I caught you before you found a convenient topiary piece, and commenced snogging behind it,” Hermione quipped. Neville laughed. Cressida approached them, running a bit to catch up to them.   
“So, what’ve you two got for us?” Neville asked.  
“Wait, not here,” Hermione said, and led them to a folly tower. It was like the one that Ginny’s and Ron’s father had died building, Dora reflected…and the one that she had taken her astronomy lessons with Severus in. She had been so confused, when he stroked her hair, and looked into her eyes…he had looked at the obsidian statue of her mother at the City of Temples with even deeper and more poignant longing. Dora hesitated as Hermione used her wand to charm the lock to the wooden door open, and they began to walk up the stone steps to the room at the top, overlooking the Tarleton estate.  
“Dora?” Harry asked, gently taking her hand, and feeling her discomfort.  
“Its all right, I’m fine,” she tried to reassure him.  
“I’d ask if you were afraid of heights, but I know you’d never be afraid to be close to the stars,” Harry said lovingly.   
Dora smiled. She reached out, and took off his mask, revealing the face she loved so much. Harry smiled, and kissed her. As they broke apart, facing the darkness, they walked up the stairs to the top floor room together.   
It was unfurnished, and its corners cradled thick, fleecy spider’s webs and hollow brown wasps’ nest, that thankfully both seemed abandoned by the creatures who had woven them. The floor was dusty. What the room did have to recommend it was the moonlight flooding through the sole window. The moon was golden and almost full, and its light fell palpably on all it touched. The moonlight had slight warmth hidden in its cool touch, as it caressed Dora’s face, neck, and shoulders. The stars were numerous and tiny, silver seeds embellishing the indigo velvet sky, and the star willows lit the view of the grounds like wildfire embroidered on the horizon. It was a lovely sight, but Hermione was too focused on the business at hand to allow any of them to be distracted by it.  
“You all seem to have some promising leads, from what I observed on the ballroom floor,” Hermione said. “We won’t know until dinner is served what Ron and Ostrulf have heard amongst the servants, but what’ve you gotten so far out of Deverell, Blaise, and Roseline?”  
“I got nothing more out of Roseline than the weather, the garden, typical pleasantries and small talk,” Neville said. “But, I’ll tell you one thing: she didn’t act like a girl who’s bloke is ignoring her, or just chucked her.”  
“Maybe she chucked then, and is well shot of him, then,” Harry said.  
“I don’t know…just didn’t feel that way. What I mean is, I think they’ve got a plan for you, Dora, and Roseline knows all about it, and her part in it is to act like she doesn’t care that Eastling is going after you,” Neville said, turning to Dora.   
“Indubitably,” Dora said. “Deverell was coming on quite strong, so I suspected as much.”  
“What sort of plan?” Harry said, concerned, and frowning thoughtfully.  
“The usual: to marry her for her money, kill her slowly with poison, and live well on her fortune,” Cressida said.  
“That’s horrible!” Hermione said indignantly.  
“It happens all the time, sadly. A fortune is a desirable thing to have, sometimes the women attached to them are troublesome acquisitions that must be separated from the more desirable half: the money,” Dora said.  
“What was Deverell like, Dora? Did he say anything useful?” Harry asked calmly. He was too calm, lethally calm-a subtle predator quietly on the hunt. Dora felt the air around him change, become taut and charged. He was born for this-he’d announced his intention to become an Auror to her the first day they’d ever met, and he was in his element, plotting to expose wrongdoing. Hermione seemed well suited to it, as well, if anything she outshone Harry at organizing an operation. Dora was fascinated by their innate skill at investigation.  
“I’d say, so, yes. I teased him about the incidents at school, made out that they amused me. He wouldn’t admit anything outright, but he had a proud manner about him, as if he wanted to brag about the incidents to me. That would probably be why he was so perturbed you cut in, Harry,” Dora said.   
“That, and he was dancing with the most beautiful girl here,” Harry said.   
Cressida and Hermione exchanged a look, impressed at Harry’s boldness: any woman would be glad of such frank tribute. Dora smiled, and she kissed Harry’s cheek.   
“There was another thing…he asked me to remember him to my uncle…as they were fellow servants of the Dark Lord,” Pandora said, letting her shoulder rest against Harry’s, her face close to either the option of pressing her cheek to his or resting her head on the shoulder of his velvet dress robes.   
“Eastling admitted to being a Death Eater?” Harry asked.  
“That’s tricky,” Hermione said. “if he is affiliated with the Death Eaters somehow, it could be loosely, tangentially, you know. A sympathizer, who’s friendly enough with someone in the ranks to be trusted, or even a lone actor who looks to Voldemort and his followers with admiration, and would love to gain their notice.”  
“But, if Eastling’s got Thrale, Crabbe, and Goyle, and the Bonnets in with him, he’s hardly a lone actor. Wouldn’t that be more like a splinter cell?” Harry asked.  
Hermione shook her head. “A splinter cell would still have branched off from the larger, more established group. Eastling’s group are inspired by, and sympathizers to, Voldemort’s cause, but we still have no definitive proof that they are known to them, and taken orders from them.”  
“It’s true. When I was out in the Vale at my Aunt and Uncle Springhavens’, I heard people saying all kinds of ignorant things. Coded kind of hate speech that people can walk back and claim was just a joke or an ‘unfiltered’ comment. Plenty of people are like that, but they aren’t die hard enough to go out into the streets and trash a goblin market.”  
“No, the problem with people who talk like that is that they normalize hateful sentiments, emboldening those who are ‘die hard’ enough to violently act on their hate with acts of terrorism,” Hermione said, and added, “Good observation, Neville. Cressida, what about Blaise?”  
“Oh, you know. Mr. Above-It-All. He feigned to be intolerably bored, upholding the Londinium/Vale schism,” Cressida said satirically.  
“Do wizards from the Vale and wizards from Londinium not get on?” Harry asked.  
Neville, Dora, and Cressida laughed as if this should be obvious.  
“Londinium wizards think nothing is more important than the city’s carousel of vanities, and hanging onto the ride in as high style as possible, and that the Vale is a backwater,” Cressida said. “Blaise is Londinium personified. I think’s he’s only here for a crack at Dora.”  
“Oh, come off it. All the world can’t be trying to acquire me. There are other rich orphaned girls with negligent Death Eater uncles, I’m sure,” Dora quipped drily.  
“Yes, but perhaps not at this ball,” Cressida said.  
“He did say something interesting, though: when the subject of Madam Tarleton’s devotion to the Cult of Dionysus arose-I brought up the frescoes of the life of Dionysus-Zabini said we would probably be treated to some sort of masque or pantomime in honor of Madam Tarleton’s patron god. Sarah Applethewaite ran away to the theatre, didn’t she? What if there’s some tie between the theatre and the cult, and that explains the disappearances?” Cressida said.  
“Hmm…there is a tie between Dionysus and the theatre,” Hermione said.  
“And vulnerable women-secluded princesses, jilted lovers, demigoddesses-joined his train of maenads, in legend. What if the Cult seeks out vulnerable girls in real life, Squib girls who’re pursuing careers as entertainers, or fallen into them to survive?” Dora said.   
Harry sighed. “I went into this just wanting to get that trash expelled for the things they did at school and in the village. But, I get it, now, its bigger than that. I don’t know how we would widen the net, tonight, and get Eastling and Thrale talking about the Squib girls, but I do care about finding Sarah Applethwaite,” he said.   
Dora squeezed his hand, and felt a rush of gratitude. He understood how vulnerable girls in their world were, and the danger they were in, and the soft, milky moonlight shining in through the tower window seemed to glow brighter around him as Dora looked at him. 

Ron and Ostrulf continued to follow Draco in the darkness, until the narrow walls of the tunnel opened to a large chamber. Ron felt the open air hit his face, and light flared painfully in his eyes after so long in the dark as they stepped into the chamber.  
It was lit by torches on wall sconces, and the orange light that they threw illuminated the pale faces of the girls sitting on the earth floor.  
A tall, slender man in dark robes, with sharp features, an aloofly handsome face, and long, silvery blonde hair in a ponytail greeted Draco with, “Hail, Pontifex Rex,” and a stiffly raised arm, fingers held stiffly together and pointed.  
“Hail, Ponifex,” Draco said coolly. They looked into each other’s eyes, but the girls on the floor, who were vacant eyed and hopeless or in open distress, sniffling or sobbing, did not draw any alarm or notice from the two Death Eaters.  
“The Dark Lord is secured. Freya and Ostara will serve as the conduits for the energy. It shall pass from the brides, through the chosen, to the Volva, and through them to the Dark Lord,” said the silver blonde Death Eater.  
“It is fortunate for us that Hugin and Munin returned, when the Dark Lord called his most devout back to him,” Draco said.  
“Fortunate, indeed. Lifting this curse has led us to dire measures,” said the silver-blonde.   
“Has nothing like this ever been seen before?” Draco asked.  
“When the Dark Lord ordered the slaughter of the boys born under the sign of the phoenix, he thought he was eliminating the most outstanding threat to himself. He did not realize that the Laws of Magic would respond in this way,” asked the elder Death Eater.  
“Do you think he was wrong to do it? They were just babies,” Draco said.  
“We are all straw dogs, Draco. To be molded and bound into a shape, and taken apart by greater powers than ourselves,” said the Death Eater, with an airy wave of his hand. The orange torch light shone on his white silk gloves almost like bloodstains.   
Ron searched Draco’s face for some kind of horror or shock that he had just heard the other wizard condone the slaughter of innocents with a dismissive, philosophical musing. Where was the delicate, sensitive boy he had loved for so long? Ron had thought even Draco’s worse excesses of dislike for Harry were rooted in his jealousy that Harry was by Ron’s side, the one place that their society dictated Draco could not be. Ron felt like an idiot. In fact, he felt ashamed at himself-he was like the women who came to his mother for healing, with bruises all along their bodies, sobbing out their heartbreaking stories of what He had done this time, how they were done with Him…but, a sliver of them still believed that He was only showing how much he cared by being jealous, controlling, threatening them with what they would do if they left and giving them a taste of just what measures they would go to in extremity. He had mistaken the jealousy and temper for desire, accepted it as a confirmation of Draco’s real feelings.  
What he should have been seeing were all the signs that Draco was exactly where he wanted to be, doing what he was suited: serving the forces of chaos, division, and hate. How could he not lock eyes with the kidnapped girls, how could he not blink at the other Death Eater condoning the slaughter of the Phoenix boys, of whom only Harry had survived, Harry, the lost boy, the boy returned, the Boy Who Lived, a legend amongst them when all he wanted to be was a skinny boy who played Quidditch.   
“The Laws of Magic…do you truly believe that magic is some kind of living thing?” Draco said.  
“Magic is all there is. All there is, is magic,” said the silver blonde, stressing his words subtly, clearly wanting Draco to remember. “We have a while, yet. Madam Tarleton does take entertaining seriously. They will dine when the dancing is done, and then the ceremony will take place in the nymphaeum.”  
“Do you go to attend him, Master?” Draco said.  
The Death Eater smiled. The firelight graced the slight wrinkles around his mouth as they curled into a smile.  
“You wish to attend upon him, I know, but rest assured that you have found favor with him, Draco. I would not have it, otherwise. Don’t be anxious about Orellana, he does not see the Alchemist’s escape as your failure,” said the Death Eater, his Master.   
That word rang hopelessly in Ron’s head. Was Draco lost to the wrong side? Did the darkness own him?  
“I would not have it seen as yours’, either, Master,” Draco said, and placed his hands imploringly on his Master’s arms.   
The Death Eater, whose voice and looks were so cold, looked into Draco’s eyes with ardent possession. Ron had heard all his life that the bond between a Master and Apprentice pair of wizards was deeper and more passionate than any marriage or lovers-it was to be so closely bound that the life of the other was your gladdest duty and most cherished concern, and the death of one could drive the other mad. The depth and passion, possessiveness and utter belonging to each other was written in their gaze, and the attitude of their bodies. Ron felt a fist around his heart. He had lost Draco, he belonged to this wizard, who was surely teaching him the darkest dark arts.   
“We hunt a bigger prize, than Orellana. The fool, Flamel, is at Hogwarts. Teaching, in Severus’s old post, out in the open, flouting us arrogantly, thinking that Dumbledore will protect him,” said Draco’s Master.  
“Hogwarts is the safest place in Wizardom,” Draco said.  
“It was, before the wards were broken. The treaties and covenants between Hogwarts and the creatures that lived in its sanctuary also protect the castle, as did the welcome that the village extended the low faeries of the Goblin Market,” said Draco’s Master. “With them gone, we could stroll down the streets of Hogsmeade whistling, right up to the very gate of Hogwarts. But, Dumbledore is no minor threat. He was great, once-until his health is recovered, the Dark Lord is not adequately prepared to face him in a single duel.”  
“You are very shrewd, Master. I hope our Lord rewards you for all your efforts to prepare him for his final battle with Dumbledore,” Draco said.  
“He will be more than ready, for when that hour comes, his Heir will be by his side,” said his Master.  
“You’ve found the boy, Asterion?” Draco asked.  
“You are so eager to know all. Time, my Apprentice. Time,” his Master said fondly, and caressed Draco’s white blonde hair lovingly, like a father adoring his firstborn, as the girls sitting in the dark wept.   
The blonde death eater departed through a tunnel on the other side of the chamber, and Ron and Ostrulf ran the way they came, to hurry back to the upper floors of Tarleton Hall and tell the others all they had seen and heard, as soon as possible. The things they had overheard floated through Ron’s head repeatedly: ‘curse’, ‘slaughter’, ‘Phoenix’, ‘Laws of Magic,’ , and ringing the most resoundingly, like a deathly bell, ‘The Dark Lord’s Heir.’


	84. Chapter 84

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dora, Cressida, and Hermione meet Gordon Manfred, and find Sarah Applethwaite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone enjoying and reading The Alchemist's Daughter:)

Harry and Dora ambled behind Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Cressida as they made their way back across the park and then the garden. Dora reveled in the warmth of Harry’s arm near her’s, the brush of the soft velvet of his dress robes against the bare skin between the sleeve of her gown and her white gloves. When the group approached the garden, a soft nocturnal breeze stroked the star willow tendrils. They shuddered, and languidly billowed, like a meteor shower in slow motion. Hermione gasped, dazzled, and held onto Neville’s arm in obvious and palpable delight.  
The light laden tendrils waved them into the garden. Bushes of opaline roses winked like enchanted birds, and topiary shed moonlit shadows in the shape of phoenixes and dragons.  
“When all this is over, I think I want to buy a car,” Harry said. “Maybe one that flies?”  
“Do you know how to drive?” Dora asked.  
“Nope. I think it would be fun to learn,” Harry asked. “Then, I can teach you.”  
Dora raised an eyebrow skeptically, and said, “Maybe I’ll learn first, and teach you.”  
She trailed her satin gloved fingertip along the wrinkles of Harry’s thumb. He tentatively stroked the plain of skin left bare between sleeve and glove, with hesitant but playful fingers. Dora smiled, as did Harry when their eyes met. A pearl of moonlight glinted in the corners of his deep green eyes, stolen light woven into his gaze. The star willow light faded behind them, replaced by the crystal spun light of the ballroom chandelier on the other side of the French doors. The group filed in behind returning couples who’d slipped off to the gardens. The dancing had already resumed, as evident by the upbeat string music that greeted them as they stepped onto the rose marble floor.  
“Cousin! Miss Black! I daresay you’ve been hiding from me, all night!” Gerald Beverley, Cressida’s cousin hailed. He looked at Harry, who’d put his mask back on, and said, “Is this banditti to blame?”  
Harry slipped away before an introduction was necessary, prompting Gerald to interject? “How discourteous!”  
“He’s foreign,” Cressida lied smoothly.  
Gerald seemed to accept this. He was a blandly amiable looking young man, the sort of person one is sure one has met before, and spends their whole acquaintance quite sure of this assumption without being able to remember where one has met them before.  
Cressida said, “We have most certainly not been avoiding you! Why did you not send a carriage round to school for me? Were you not supposed to be my escort?”  
“Simple miscommunication about some particulars. These muddles, they do happen,” Gerald said, as if pacifying an outrageous, hysteric creature-if a question that he didn’t want to answer was to be counted as a rampaging species of beast. Noticing Neville, he said over-jocularly, “Longbottom! Did you think this was a fancy-dress ball?”  
Neville rested his thumbs in his suspenders beneath his blazer, and said, “I know where I am, Gerald,” with offhanded relish.  
Hermione, masked, held back a giggle behind her hand.  
Gerald Beverley’s face quivered, and he exerted the most minute effort to reclaim its mask of amiability before he looked visibly perturbed by another wizard of his own class. The social mandates regarding strong emotions, like love and anger, amongst peers forbid any overt display of them.  
He turned his attention to Pandora, and said, “Miss Black, a distinguished warlock desires to make your acquaintance.”  
“What’s his name? I’ll decide if I’ve heard it distinguished in any way,” Pandora said.  
“Certainly more distinguished than Young Eastling, to be sure,” Gerald said. “You were chosen, by Madam Tarleton, to represent the graces of the goddess Libera in the flesh-surely it would not suit that role to allow one young gentleman to hoard your time.”  
“Even Libera can’t be too liberal,” Dora said.  
“Do you stand to derive some benefit from the brokerage of this introduction, cousin? Your desire for it can only be surpassed by the gentleman’s own,” Cressida said, giving her cousin a shrewd look.  
“The only benefit I stand to derive is that of facilitating an acquaintance which all my knowledge of the two parties involved assures me will be mutually edifying,” Gerald said.  
“Oh, how sublime that pleasure stands to be, I’m sure,” Cressida quipped, pushing the envelope of the familiarity and indulgence of shared blood.  
“Who is the gentleman?” Pandora asked.  
“Gordon Manfred-surely, you’ve read his verse. Its just the sort of thing that would please you,” Gerald said.  
“Why do you think so?” Dora asked.  
“Oh, probably because his heretic words seem to start little fires wherever they are read,” Cressida said.  
“What’s that to do with me?” Dora asked.  
“Says the face that could launch a thousand ships to set sail for Troy,” Gerald said, with a smug chortle Dora didn’t like at all.  
“What a disappointed fleet they would be, not to find me anywhere near a ruin,” Pandora said. “I need to make up my mind about it. Cressie, come with me whilst I deliberate.”  
“Deliberate? Mr. Manfred is a very important warlock, you know!” Gerald said, letting a bit of huffiness slip in to his voice.  
“I’ll be along shortly-certainly he is being entertained by someone else even now, and if he values my acquaintance so highly he can wait to make it just a little while longer,” Dora said, and pulled Cressida along into the corridor outside the ballroom. Hermione followed.  
“You can’t be alone with Manfred! If we’ve been even half right about all of this, then he’s a sex trafficker and a cult leader!” Hermione spluttered, when they were assured they were alone in a corridor lined with portraits.  
“Granger’s right, Pandy-he’s a beast, I’m sure,” Cressida said.  
“Yes, but, both of you, think: Sarah!” Pandora said. “What is she is in his retinue, with him here, tonight, or what if I can discern from some hint he gives where she is?”  
Hermione frowned thoughtfully, while Cressida looked to Hermione for some kind of decisive action that would put down Dora’s notions.  
“You can’t go alone, certainly. We’ll go with you!” Hermione said. “Will he see all of us? What’s the etiquette for this sort of situation?”  
“I seem to have developed a reputation for not caring much for that sort of thing-I think we should take advantage of that,” Pandora said.  
Cressida smiled appreciatively. “All right. But, don’t drink anything, or smoke anything around him.”  
“Smoke?” Dora said incredulously.  
“You never know, do you?” Cressida said.  
They returned to the ballroom, and Pandora gave Gerald her assent to be introduced to the poet. He seemed pleased, and relaxed, becoming his own size again after being swollen with anxiety that his objective wouldn’t take place. The poet, he told them, was waiting in a drawing room. Pandora noted that the Tarletons must have some familiarity with Manfred if they were allowing him to lounge in their rooms in this way. That seemed to back up the conjectures she and her friends had put forth that there was a connection between the worship of Dionysus, which the Tarletons practiced, and Manfred.  
What did that mean for Sarah, and any other Squib girls at the theater in Londinium, the Dionysisum? Were the lurid reports of rituals in ‘Seen in Town’ true, or as baseless as Sadie Tuppence’s stories about Dora’s wild behavior? As Gerald led them down a carpeted corridor with candelabras burning against the walls, it occurred to Dora that he could be leading them into a trap under the very cover of propriety-a man whom society assumed to be a trustworthy chaperone may be leading a girl anywhere he chose.  
They found Manfred lounging on a Queen Anne couch, surrounded by young men whom Dora knew vaguely on sight, Vale boys around Anthea’s age who had surely felt robbed by her elopement to the obscure and mediocre Maurice Buttershaw of the Hogsmeade mountains-no part of the world that warranted consideration, by their collective estimate. Their eyes flew to Dora, now, and she felt the weight of not only their collective, but their full gaze: Cressida and Hermione, she immediately ascertained, did not interest them. This meant it was Dora of whom they’d been speaking. What had Gerald promised, what did Manfred expect.  
He was a tall, robust sort, the way one would imagine a Norman noble who’d crossed with the Conqueror, knocking about stunted Saxons with a mace and gaining a demesne for his troubles. His hair was dark and curly, his eyes wide and piercing, the eyes of a bird with precise vision and sharp talons, both essential for zeroing in and carting off their prey, small creatures who spent their lives hiding in tall grass. He wore only a white shirt, open and exposing a laughable amount of chest that Dora found more of a parody than a provocation, and a captain’s boots. Had he sailed the ocean between the Faerie realms, or the ships of the air, or did he just feign this through affectations of dress?  
Dora steeled herself to be calm, devoting a small portion of her heart to thoughts of Harry and kisses beneath star willows, singing Alkonosts, and blue American skies. Otherwise, she was on her guard.  
“Miss Black,” Manfred said, extending his crystal glass of phosphorescent absinthe in her direction like a toast. “I have heard much said and seen much written about you.”  
“I do hope you don’t believe everything you hear, or even all that you read,” Pandora said.  
“Even if I find it favorable? Nay: intriguing?” Manfred said. He waved his arm in a gesture indicating that she, Cressida, and Hermione should sit.  
“What has intrigued you?” Pandora asked, “my wealth?”  
“Fortunes can be lost,” Manfred said airily.  
“My face?” Pandora asked.  
“Beauty fades,” Manfred said, accepting a crystal skull with some sort of pipe attached handed to him by one of his compatriots.  
“Then, what is it about me that you wish to possess, exactly?” Pandora asked.  
“Your soul, Miss Black. It has spoken to me, and I have answered, and our souls contrived to bring us here, together, tonight,” Manfred said.  
Dora felt as if someone was painting her with mud. She had to fight a grimace dearly yearning to spread like the rise of dawn across her face.  
“I prefer to keep my soul where it is. It happens to belong to me, you see,” Pandora said.  
Manfred smirked, as if she was sharing a witticism with him. It was as if he refused to believe that she wasn’t who he had read about, and was writing his own volume of the story in which they were soulmates.  
The skull was passed, glowing absinthe the color of fungal blossoms in an underground cave was poured. Manfred and his companions looked at the girls with entreating smiles to partake, and they said no.  
“At gatherings of philosophers, in ancient days, learned women of wit and wiles would entertain the scholars as they talked of the nature of the universe and the laws of nature,” Manfred said.  
“I hope you don’t expect me to do anything entertaining in the slightest. I can’t be compelled,” Pandora said.  
Manfred laughed, again, as if the remark had been a sign of their rapport.  
“Not you, Miss Black,” Manfred said, and waved his hand in an airy, languid gesture.  
This was a cue, it seemed, and two girls entered the room, wearing gauzy costumes meant to evoke the Hellenistic age. One played a wind instrument, the other danced sinuously, to the ravenous delight of Manfred’s young companions. Dora recognized her almost at once-tall, with dark eyes, and chestnut brown hair: Sarah Applethwaite!  
“Stop!” Pandora said, and grabbed at Sarah’s arm.  
“You stop! Are you mad?” Sarah said, outraged.  
“As mad as this age requires! Only the mad will break barriers, abolish the old order, and erect a new age!” Manfred said, clapping in delight like a boy watching a circus.  
“Sarah, come with me,” Dora urged.  
Sarah looked doubtful, but intrigued. She looked at Manfred as if asking for his permission. He was smirking smugly and bemusedly.  
“What Miss Black wants, she gets,” Manfred said. “By all means, let her steal you away.”  
Pandora looked at Cressida and Hermione, and they followed her out of the room, with Sarah in tow, looking confused. They went to the library.  
“What are you playing at? I heard that you’re a wild one, but what do you want with me?” Sarah asked, more intrigued, than afraid.  
Hermione said, “We’ve been looking for you.”  
“Your mother asked us to help her find you. She told us that Deverell Eastling had something to do with your disappearance,” Pandora said.  
“Deverell? That little poseur? He wants to be Manfred. I wanted the real thing. He’s a great mind. He may look idle, but all his endeavors are to raise the energy of our collective consciousness,” Sarah said.  
“And, how does he go about this?” Cressdia said skeptically. “With substances, like absinthe, and whatever is in that skull?”  
“By carnally using women? Using your bodies as vessels, harvesting your very life force to feed his magic?” Pandora said.  
“This is not an honor, Sarah, its exploitation,” Hermione said, and added. “You don’t need a man like Manfred to realize your potential. He only tells you that you cannot evolve without him because he cannot fulfill his desires without you, but tells you that the dependence lies on your side so that you will yoke yourself to his purpose.”  
“Sarah, your mother wants to see you,” Pandora added.  
“Her? She doesn’t care about me! She thinks I’m a whore. So why should I try to be anything else? I don’t care anymore, and no one else does!” Sarah exploded furiously. “She believed all the lies that Grandmother told about me, she believe her side of every story! They never gave me a chance to become anything else. They told me I would be a whore, that I was a whore, and now I suppose that’s what I am.”  
“The world judges girls harshly. People tell a lot of lies about me, too. But…I don’t know, yet, whether I shall win, but I know that I will fight not to let anyone else define me,” Pandora said. “I’m sorry that someone you loved didn’t believe in you. But, we believe in you. If we thought you were lost, we wouldn’t be here, Sarah. Will you help us?”  
“Help you to do what?” Sarah asked.  
“What do you know about an organization called the Manticore? Did Deverell ever mention such a thing?” Hermione asked.  
Sarah looked undecided, and skeptical, and said, “I can’t. The ritual…they said that it would transform me. I want to be a witch. I’m sorry, if I help you, I can't be a Bride….I won’t tell anyone, but please, let me go through with the ritual.”  
“What ritual?” Dora asked plaintively.  
“I have to go,” Sarah said, and fled back to Manfred.  
Dora felt crushed. She had done all she could to find Sarah, she had quarreled with Harry over finding her, she had worried for her fate as if she was a friend, or sister, and though part of the girl was merely hurt and angry, another part of her still saw Manfred as her salvation. Dora felt that she had failed.  
“Ritual?” Cressida murmured. “Whatever does she mean, that it will transform her?”  
Dora had no time to nurse this disappointment. The labyrinth of conjecture had taken another turn, and was leading deeper into its dark heart. 


	85. Chapter 85

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Order of the Phoenix fight alongside Harry and his friends to liberate the hostages and stop the Death Eaters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think by commenting, and please leave a kudo if you haven't already! Part 1 is complete, but there is more of the Coven Wars series to come!

“Where’s Dora?” Harry asked.  
Neville nudged him softly with his elbow, to silently remind him not to draw attention. Harry couldn’t help it. Dora, Cressida, and Hermione had all left the ballroom with a young man whose resemblance was great enough to Cressida that he felt he could safely conjecture that he was Cressida’s cousin, Gerald. The dancing ended for good, soon after, and the guests were shown to the dining room.  
The dinner proved to be yet another show of Pureblood elite opulence. Servants, Ron and Ostrulf among them, carried a large silver platter in a manner eerily reminiscent of pall bearers carrying a coffin, into the dining room. Girlish, roundfaced little boys in robes sang a high, lilting plainsong, serenading a large, boar-like carcass as it was brought out and laid upon the table. It was all quite a production.   
“That’s a parandrus. Sort of like an ox. They’re quite ornery; serving one at a fancy dinner is a sign that you’re both a keen hunter, and rich as sin,” Neville said.  
“Message sent,” Harry said, looking at the macabre sight of the roasted animal’s waxy, tender skin, and the blank stare of its eyes that had been replaced by olives. It reclined on a bed of salad in such a way that reminded Harry of a ghoulish take on illustrations of ‘Ferdinand the Bull’.  
The roasted parandrus was not the only opulent main dish to be brought out to impress. Even as a servant carved the pink flesh of the parandrus into thin filets, yet another young servant carried into the dining room what appeared to be twin swans on a silver platter. Their wings were open, and stiff, the preserved feathers shuddering as the platter was carried.   
“Those are avalerians. They live for centuries, and mate for life, like swans. Just after they lay their eggs, they dive into the ocean, and drown together. Then the next pair hatch. Only two avalerians are ever alive at the same time,” Neville explained.  
“But…those two have been killed for food. Did they get a chance to lay their eggs, first?” Harry asked.  
“I don’t know,” Neville said.  
This disturbed Harry. It was worse than waste-it was a vulgar display of power, of the perceived superiority that Pureblood wizards like the Tarletons thought they had over other magical lives. He watched the rest of the procession of dishes through a haze of anger at the status quo. Nothing, not the meat tarts, fish cutlets of rare marine life from the Sea of Avalon, the marzipan replica of the manor, and faerie fruits impressed him. This was all procured by privilege, and sent the message that greatness and wealth were synonymous. The faces of the people at the table with him were smugly content: the faces of people who firmly believed that they would, and should, always enjoy advantages over others.   
Dora, his soul sighed, exhaling her name, wishing for her. When she didn’t come, his thoughts strayed to America, the river, Tiamat, to Wiltshire, to Caer Arianrhod, and his conversation with Fortune about Dragon Sense. What did it all mean? The chatter and whispers of the diners was like the patter of pouring rain. Their laughter sounded oblivious. Did they neither know nor care that Voldemort was afoot and scheming for power, or did they know full well, and were secure that his victory would ensure their future comfort? Either way, Harry longed to be looking once more into Dora’s eyes, and sharing the perfect understanding he saw there. 

Ron and Ostrulf waited on the diners, topping up glasses of wine and champagne, carrying away soiled napkins and handing out clean ones, cutting more of the parandrus or avalerian. Harry was considering leaving the table to find Dora, when a piece of paper peeked out of the fresh napkin that, from the retreating flash of ginger hair out of the corner of his eye, Ron had dropped on Harry’s plate. Discreetly, Harry opened it, and saw, the words, “Kidnapped girls in the recess.”  
Harry looked up. As he did so, he noticed Anthea and Maurice Buttershaw at the end of the table. Anthea smiled knowingly, and Maurice raised his glass, smiling bemusedly.  
Harry cursed inwardly-of course, as frequent guests at the cottage, they could recognize him easily even in a flimsy mask, and clearly knew who he was. Harry hadn’t planned on running into anyone who knew him that well, but he had to try to play it cool. He coolly returned the salute with his own wineglass, in a neutral mode, as if they were strangers.  
When the parandrus and avalerian had been carved down to reveal the animals’ bones, the sweets were the next to be depleted, the wine flowing, and conversation intensifying to grating frivolity with a raucous edge. Through it all, Honoria Tarleton smiled coolly, clearly nursing a secret which delighted her. Dora, Cressida, and Hermione arrived minutes before Honoria stood, daintily banged a fork against her glass, signifying that she would speak, and wanted silence in which to be heard.  
“Rise, my guests. The hour has come. Those of you who have been invited tonight will witness an auspicious honor, a ritual which we, at Tarleton, are honored beyond words to facilitate, for the service of our Lord,” she said silkenly.  
Harry knew at once that she did not mean God. He had heard that tone of blind devotion before, and it always signified a Death Eater, discussing Voldemort.   
“Rise,” she repeated. “come to the garden.”  
The dinner guests got up, one by one, and followed the sway of Madam Honoria’s white dress across the dining room’s gleaming floor. Harry and Neville edged their way towards Maurice.  
“What the Devil are you doing here, Harry?” Maurice asked.  
“You know-thought it would be a good time on Friday night,” Harry said.  
“Not likely! You’re here to keep an eye on Crumpet, aren’t you? Does she know that you’re spying on her?” Anthea asked.  
“It’s a bit more complicated than that, Anthea,” Harry said.  
“We’re here to help,” Neville said.  
“To help whom? Look, boys, something very sensitive is due to take place at Tarleton, tonight, and I need you both to collect Pandora and anyone else who’s here and may get hurt, and go back to Hogwarts,” Maurice said.  
“I can’t,” Harry said, as the crowd filed through the French doors and entered the garden. The light of star willows and lampwings, birds whose round middles glowed like lanterns, cast on their faces.   
“I’m not asking, Harry. Your godfather is my dearest friend, and I couldn’t look him in the eye if I allowed you to be hurt,” Maurice said.  
“And Pandora has been a sister to me, all my life. I count on you to protect her, no matter if you two are having some sort of tiff right now. Please, do find her, Harry!” Anthea said.  
“Anthea? What are you doing here?” Pandora said. She, Cressida, and Hermione approached. Deverell Eastling was hot behind them, as if he had been seeking Dora all night, and finally caught up with her. The timing was so frustrating, Harry had to hold in an audible exclamation of displeasure.  
“Dora! You said you were bored, earlier? You wanted me to make some trouble, liven things up?” Deverell said. “Wait till you see this.”  
“See what?” Dora asked.  
“The Hieros Gamos ritual. Madam Tarleton is big friends with Manfred, apparently, this was all his set up-he is some sort of theater director, after all,” Deverell said.   
“Oh?” Dora said proddingly.  
“A few girls from his theater are going to be given to the Dark Lord as tribute. It should make him stronger, you see. Then he’ll be restored. I don’t mind telling you-your uncle is a servant of the Dark Lord, and I knew you were on the right side of things, after all. Just having a bit of fun with Harry Potter, and running away to live with that uncle of yours. I like a girl who kicks up a fuss and makes things interesting when she’s bored, rather than smiling at everything like a doll,” Deverell said.  
“Well, mind you don’t protest when I grow bored of you,” Dora quipped smoothly. “What is Hieros Gamos, Deverell?”  
“That’s Ancient Greek: it means ‘holy marriage,’” Maurice said. Deverell noticed him for the first time.  
Dora’s eyes widened.  
Through the red chord, he and Dora communicated.  
‘Ron passed me a note at dinner. It said ‘kidnapped girls in the recess,’’ Harry told her.  
‘We found Sarah! We talked to her! There is to be some kind of ritual, involving the girls from the Dionysium theater. They’re Squibs, and they’ve been told it will give them magical ability, but I feat that’s not true,’ Dora responded to him.  
‘Energy! The Death Eaters use feminine energy! They’re not giving the girls magic, they’re stealing their energy to fuel dark magic!’ Harry concluded.   
“Well, whatever you call it, when its done, the Dark Lord will properly rise again, clear out all this dead weight and dross that proper wizards like us have to support. We’ve done our bit, and it was all good fun, but this is where it really begins, Dora. You’ll see,” Deverell said, with a seething giddiness, a near giggling, barely restrained manic hatred that made Dora feel repulsed not only at him, but at the mere fact that she was standing in the presence of so many people with so much hate in their hearts. Harry could feel all of this through the chord, her shuddering repulsion rocking her soul in waves.  
“Go,” Maurice mouthed to Harry, urging him, and the girls, to flee, as Madam Tarleton led them to a sculpture garden of Greek style columns and statues of minutely carved ancient goddesses. The moonlight graced the stone carvings with silver light, and small, thin trees shuddered from the night air. All was silent, until Harry heard whimpers. There were several of them, as if there was a box of newborn kittens nearby. He followed the sound, saw Draco Malfoy with a stoic face approaching the nymphaeum, walking a distraught Lavender Brown towards the center.  
“I’m not a Squib!!” she wailed.  
“Damn near enough to one, for our purposes,” Deverell said, with nasty bemusement, and a commiserating tone, as if he expected Dora to agree.  
“What’s happening?” she said, as more Death Eaters filed in, roughly handling the crying girls, whose whimpers were turning to sobs.   
“The ritual is about to being. When Madam Tarleton casts the incantation, the life forces of the servants of the Dark Lord and the Squib chits will be bound…normally, that just starts up an orgy, at a fete like this, in honor of Dionysus. But, its been tweaked a bit-the energy will go to the Dark Lord, and make him stronger,” Deverell said.  
‘Harry! We have to stop it!’ Dora said.  
Madam Tarleton opened a large book, and began to read a Litany.  
“Carpe Codex!” Hermione cried, and the book sailed out of Madam Tarlton’s hands, into Hermione’s.  
Madam Tarleton gasped in surprise.  
“Run!” Dora cried, but Hermione shook her head, tucking the book tightly under her arm. “You’ll need me. Things are about to go wild. Free the girls.”   
Dora looked at the hands of the crying girls still being held in place by Death Eaters wearing dark robes in silver masks, their hands bound with ropes, and cast, “Libero!” at each of their wrists. The ropes sang whisperingly in the night, and fell at each girls feet. Deverell looked at Dora, furious and aghast.   
“Do you not comprehend anything I just told you, you silly bitch?” Deverell hissed, and took out his wand. “What are you and your little masked friend playing at?”  
Cries rose from the crowd, of inquiry and distress. Deverell raised his wand, but Dora and Hermione struck first, both casting different jinxes that sent Deverell into a skittering tap dance, his arms flailing as the magic shook him around. The Death Eaters were looking around for the saboteurs, and aimed at Hermione and Dora. Harry breathed, casting one of the auric shields that Fortune had taught them, and aiming a spell at the Death Eaters.   
“Darling, give the signal,” Maurice told Anthea, and she elegantly slipped the ornamental ostrich feather out of her hair and shook it loose. The look of purpose on her face as she did so was curious, it was as if she was waiting for a response from some other party observing her.  
Harry soon received his answer, as the growls of wolves began to sound, building into full-throated howls as the wolves burst through the trees into the nymphaeum, gnashing their sharp teeth at the Death Eaters. The girls continued to scatter, fleeing any which way they can, and the night began to smell burnt and feel hot and charged as Death Eaters shot spells at werewolves, who lithely dodged the hits and lunged for the flesh beneath the dark robes, biting mercilessly. The dinner guests who had gathered to see the ritual scattered, running for the garden and the manor.   
Harry found himself dueling Deverell, who was still shaky but vivified by his hatred.   
“Take off that ridiculous mask!” Deverell demanded, over the growls of wolves and the screams of Squib girls, guests of the Liberalia, and the singing of singeing whistle of spells sailing through the air, looking for a target.  
“Why? Your mates wear masks, don’t they? You’d love one, wouldn’t you, a shiny tin Death Eater mask,” Harry taunted, and light flashed from the end of Deverell’s wand. Harry lunged, thrusting his wand forward as if holding a sword, aiming a counterspell. He felt in his element, dueling Deverell. His feet did not lose a step, his thoughts readily supplied him with spells to fire, his wand was in harmony with him, it fired readily. This, to Harry, felt right.  
Thrale rushed in to second his friend in the fight. Harry looked to his side and saw Malfoy, fighting by his side.  
“But, your cover?” Harry asked.  
“Irrevocably blown, thanks for asking,” Draco said, and fired.  
Harry looked over his shoulder, and saw that Dora, and Anthea were shepherding the Squib girls to hide in the greenhouse, Hermione was firing with her wand in one hand, the book under the arm of the other as she dueled a Death Eater, and Ron had joined the fray, as well, seconding Maurice in a duel with a Death Eater, and somehow Harry knew that one of the wolves was Ostrulf, joining the rest of the Bear Hunter pack, who had been engaged to help rescue the girls and stop the ritual. The battle raged beneath the moonlight like a violent ballet, until the moon was blotted by the descending transport wagons of provincial Aurors, coming to separate the innocent from the guilty.

Dora felt as if she had been hours amongst the weeping Squib girls when the door to the greenhouse opened. The girls, who feared some new unfortunate twist in their fate, gasped, but when the moonlight revealed who had entered, Dora was pleased but surprised to see Remus Lupin.  
“Pandora! I would ask just what you are doing here, tonight, but I fear it’s a long story. The kind of story you tell over breakfast, at home,” Remus said.  
“Harry is out there!” she said quickly.  
Remus nodded patiently, and said, “Yes, yes, we know, dear. The Aurors notified us. I should have put all of this together…this is to do with the Manticore, isn’t it? I should have followed up after you asked me, and after Mrs. Applethwaite’s story.”  
“This isn’t your fault, Doctor!” Dora said.   
“Let’s not speak of faults, just now, Dora. These girls need our help,” Remus said. Anthea nodded meaningfully. Remus met the eyes of one of the captive girls who dared to look up, and knelt beside her, opening his doctor’s bag.  
Whatever questions she had to answer in the morning, Dora was inspirited with gladness, with all her heart, that the girls were free. 

Harry answered the Aurors’ questions as best as he could, as did Hermione and Ron, as what Death Eaters hadn’t Egressed away to evade justice were loaded into the transport wagons. Sirius’s arm was around Harry’s shoulder, but Harry couldn’t tell if it was to comfort him or ensure that he didn’t sneak or run away. He could feel his godfather’s displeasure palpably-a certain set of his face, and rigidity to his body language gave it away,.   
“Draco,” Sirius said, his voice sounding deeply apologetic, looking at his young cousin, whose face was uncharacteristically solemn. Harry didn’t fail to grasp what was passing between them in that moment: Draco had helped Harry and his friends in the Squib girls’ escape, and the Death Eaters would surely not fail to report this. He could not go back undercover, and his father, who was still in the Dark Lord’s clutches, may suffer for his perceived betrayal.   
“I knew the risks,” Draco said simply.  
“Draco,” Harry said. “You helped me, here tonight. And, you helped the girls that the Death Eaters were holding hostage. You need a place to stay. My family, they left me this house, its called Orchard Grange. Its probably the safest place around here. Do you want to stay there?”  
“Its unplottable, warded, and only people who have Harry’s blessing can even find it,” Sirius said.  
Draco looked thoughtful, and said, “Fine. It sounds serviceable. But, I do hope the décor isn’t too…Gryffindor.”  
“We’ll look at fabric swatches when I get there, don’t worry,” Harry said.  
Sirius smirked as he opened an Egress for Draco. Draco stepped through. When the portal was closed, they stood in the nymphaeum, just the two of them again, and Sirius’s momentary amusement had dissipated, leaving the tenseness that made Harry reticent to speak.  
“You did good work tonight, for a pathologically lying schoolboy,” Sirius said. “Got a few Death Eaters busted, freed a few dozen captives, or so, and retrieved a Dark Magic grimoire. Not bad. But, none of it was your place, Harry. Do you understand? You’re just a kid. You should have been at school, tonight.”  
“I did this for the school, Sirius,” Harry said adamantly.   
Sirius arched a dark eyebrow. “Oh?”  
Oh! Just oh! Harry couldn’t even find the words to explain how, yes, this might have been bigger than him, but it was not beyond him to solve. He had friends who had helped him, and the world they had penetrated had directly hurt Pandora. He could not sit back as the very boys who taunted him in school and started brawls in the streets spread their poison through Hogwarts, a place that was supposed to be a haven and sanctuary of magic.  
“Yes! You don’t understand! You’re not even trying to! We had to get evidence that the Manticore are connected to Death Eaters, and we did! Not only did we save the Squib girls, but when Cressida and Dora take those necklaces off, the Aurors will hear all the stuff Thrale and Eastling confessed! And those creeps and their Death Eater poison will be out of Hogwarts!” Harry raged. “we have to keep the school safe. Its supposed to be a place where people come to learn magic, and its supposed to be safe!”  
Sirius’s hands were firmly on Harry’s shoulders. He looked into Harry’s eyes, and said, “I can hear in your voice how much you care about Hogwarts, and want to protect it. That’s not even half of how much I love you, and want to protect you. Harry, Voldemort is going to hear of this. Somehow, some way, he’s going to know that you were behind stopping the Hieros Gamos ritual. Do you need to give him fresh reasons to come after you?”  
“He doesn’t need a reason! He’s already coming, and he’s not going to stop! But, I’m not going to let him take Hogwarts!” Harry raged.  
“Hogwarts is a bloody school. You’re my son. You’re not throwing your life away, damn it!” Sirius roared, and then pulled Harry into a hug. He held him close, and when they broke apart, Sirius held Harry’s face between his hands, looking long and deep at him.  
“So much like your dad. All of that, ‘For the good of Hogwarts’ tripe. He got off on that poncy nonsense, too,” Sirius said, with sad fondness.   
“Do you think he’d be as angry at me, as you are?” Harry asked.  
“I’m not angry, Harry-I’m scared. I was scared, when we got word that you and your godsister were in danger,” Sirius said.   
“Dora took the girls to the greenhouse, to safety. She was so brave, you should have seen her. She fought for them, all along. Before I could even see how much danger they were in, she knew, and had hope that we would save them,” Harry said.  
Sirius smiled, and said, “Your godsister is remarkable…and in just as much trouble as you are, this weekend. Enjoy the Quidditch match, tomorrow morning: you’ll be able to review the highlights as you do your chores.”  
Harry grimaced, but he also felt relieved. He certainly didn’t mind cleaning some rain gutters, if it meant that Sirius and Remus were appeased and grateful that he and Dora were all right rather than furious at them.   
As they walked to the greenhouse, Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Cressida approached eagerly, all recounting their stories at once, until Sirius held up a silencing hand.  
“The Aurors are going to examine that Grimoire that we seized from Madam Tarlton! And she was taken away to be questioned, with the other Death Eaters! Dr. Lupin is looking over the girls, then they’re going to be treated by Alchemists at St. Mungo’s, in Londinium,” Hermione informed them.  
“As glad as I am that Harry has friends like you, I suggest you all get back up to school now, all right?” Sirius said. He opened an Egress, and as the four of them departed through it, he said, “You might have gone about it the wrong way, but you did a good thing for the school.”  
“Did you mean that?” Harry asked, as his friends departed.  
“Sure,” Sirius said. “Of course, we don’t want Death Eaters in the halls, signing people up. You can’t change what’s in people’s hearts, or minds, by removing bad influences, but getting the Manticore out of Hogwarts certainly saved people tonight.”  
They reached the greenhouse. Harry peered in, to see Dr. Lupin talking to the girls patiently. Their fearful looks were beginning to soothe. Anthea Buttershaw, who had clearly been acting as a member of the Order of the Phoenix alongside her husband, was talking consolingly to Lavender Brown, who looked desolate, her long brown hair streaming around her shoulders, her face engraved with shock that the people she had done so much to impress had looked at her as only a tool to be used for their purposes.  
Dora was not wearing her necklace any longer, Harry noticed. She must have given the Thinkstones to the Aurors. He walked over to her, and their eyes met. Now that the danger had passed, it hit him what risks they had taken, all that could have happened. It was a miracle and a mercy that he could look into her eyes again. Moonlight shone through the glass roof into the space between them, and the light was graced their shoulders as they closed that space. They were surely going to be told in the morning how much trouble they were in, with their guardians, but as Dora threw her arms around Harry and he held her tight, he felt only relief that she was still warm and alive, still safe, still in his life. They were together, and alive, their mission accomplished.


	86. Chapter 86

After careful consideration, I have decided that instead of writing a sequel to this fic, I am going to pursue expanding the original elements of this work into an original work based in its own universe. Archetypes such as The Chosen One, the Mentor, the School of Magic, and a war between Good and Evil are universal to world myth, folklore, and literature, and I choose to explore them further, building my own canon and world utilizing the original characters I created for this fic. Thanks so much for the support you have given-it amazes me, and has given me the courage to make this step.


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